


You'll be the prince and I'll be the princess

by xxawalkinwonderlandxx



Series: Fairytales, Myths, and Legends [2]
Category: The 100 (TV), The 100 Series - Kass Morgan
Genre: Bellarke fairytale, Cinderella AU, F/M, I really couldn't help myself
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-24
Updated: 2020-02-28
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:47:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 24,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22879717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xxawalkinwonderlandxx/pseuds/xxawalkinwonderlandxx
Summary: Ever since her father died, Clarke's world has been tipped on its head. When her mother told her that she was going to remarry, Clarke wanted to be happy for her, but she could tell that Russel wasn't the best guy. And he wasn't her father. Then, one day in the woods she met a handsome apprentice, and when the castle declares that they're going to have a ball, well, maybe she'll get to see him again ;)This is a mix of the original Disney Cinderella movie from 1950 and the live action one from 2015! I hope you like it :)
Relationships: Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin
Series: Fairytales, Myths, and Legends [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1655845
Comments: 38
Kudos: 105





	1. Chapter 1

This wonderful piece of work is what inspired this _entire_ fic! So, you should really go give some love to it's creator and tell her how good she is and her fics are just as wonderful :)

Twitter: [swainslake](https://twitter.com/swainslake?s=20)  
Tumblr: [swainlake](https://swainlake.tumblr.com/)  
AO3: [babykanima](https://archiveofourown.org/users/babykanima/pseuds/babykanima)

The sunlight streams in through the cracks in the attic walls and Clarke tries to shield her eyes from it. _It’s too early_. It’s always too early. The sound of Picasso pawing at her door is what finally persuades her to get up because Clarke knows that if she doesn’t feed her soon, she won’t get fed. Josephine wanted Picasso when they were younger, Kaylee didn’t really care, and of course, her father was more than willing to get them a puppy, except Josephine, never wanted to actually take care of it, which is where Clarke came in. Even though she wasn’t allowed to openly play with the new puppy when their parents weren’t around, Clarke took on the role of feeding her and bathing her and making sure she was exercised properly. Of course, looking back on it now, it all seemed to be conditioning for what she would eventually have to do every day for the other people in her house.

Clarke rolls out of bed and pulls on her shoes, then grabs her coat and makes her way towards her door where Picasso seems intent on pawing a hole through it. The hinges scream as she pries open the old wood, and Clarke flinches. She really should remember to oil them. The golden dog smiles when Clarke looks at her, and her long tail swishes from side to side as she dances around. Clarke kneels and scratches her between the ears.

“You’re hungry, I know. Come on, let’s get you fed before everyone else wakes up.” She pats her leg as she walks towards the spiral staircase, and the dog trots behind her happily.

There’s a chill in the air as Clarke makes her way into the living quarters, and she makes a mental note to grab some more firewood after she gets Picasso’s food. Pulling her coat tighter around her, Clarke silently makes her way through the house and towards the back door where the dog food is kept. Russel wanted to have the food kept outside like all of the other animal food, but Josephine threw a tantrum until he relented, and a compromise was made to keep it out of sight and out of mind for the most part.

Clarke takes a scoop of the food out of the bag and places it in Picasso’s bowl, then takes her empty water bowl and washes it out, adding clean water before she puts it back beside the food. When she looks out the window, she notices the flags being raised in the city, and she wonders if there will be a time where she’s there for when they raise them.

“My grandfather used to say that the balls were wonderful,” Clarke says, mostly to herself, but Picasso looks up at her. “What do you think? Spending a night in a crowded room while the rich flaunt their money?” The dog lets out a soft bark, and Clarke smiles. “Maybe it would be interesting to experience at least.”

With one last scratch behind Picasso’s ears, Clarke sets out across the yard towards the barn so she can grab more firewood. She gathers a few pieces in her arms and frowns at the dwindling pile in front of her. When the temperature drops, there seems to never be enough wood to last them a week even though she’ll spend hours chopping it until her hands are bloody and raw. But, pushing the thought out of her mind, she heads back to the house and gets to work building up the fires before she starts breakfast for everyone.

She pulls her hair back into a pale blue ribbon that her mother used to tie in her hair but has long since lost the vibrant color that it used to have, and she gets to work boiling water, and cutting up bread, cooking eggs, and preparing the ham and bacon. After years of practice, Clarke can get it all done within half an hour and have three separate trays ready to be brought to their rooms. Clarke usually eats while she cooks, so she picks at whatever she’s currently working on and finds that whatever she doesn’t use turns out to taste the best. Once everything is laid out, Clarke picks up Russel’s tray and makes her way towards his room, but not without a stop to the front door to see if the paper has arrived. It hasn’t.

When she reaches his door, she balances the tray on one hand while knocking with the other. “Mr. Lightbourne, breakfast.”

There’s the sound of some rustling on the other side that’s muffled by the thick wood, then the sound of slippers scraping against the hardwood floor, and the door opens. “I’ve been awake for the past ten minutes, make sure not to waste so much time. Understand?”

“Yes, sir. It won’t happen again.” Clarke moves past him and into his room, setting the tray down on the table beside the bed. “The paper has not come yet, but I will bring it as soon as it does.”

“Everyone is late today,” Russel grumbles, and he settles himself back into bed, and Clarke tries to hurry out of the room as fast as she can. She doesn’t like being around him when he’s grumpy, which is nearly all of the time, and if he’s up, then that means Josephine isn’t far behind.

Clarke grabs both Josephine’s tray and Kaylee’s, then makes her way up to the second floor. Josephine’s room is at the very end of the hall, which used to be Clarke’s room with a view of the garden, and Clarke places Kaylee’s tray on the windowsill before knocking on Josephine’s door.

“Josephine, breakfast.”

There’s the sound of hard footsteps that make the floorboards rattle, and the other girl throws open the door to her room in a huff with her black housecoat flowing around her. “Took you long enough! You know that if I don’t eat as soon as I wake up, then my stomach is in knots all day. Are you trying to make me sick?”

“I’m sorry it won’t happen again.” Clarke ducks her head and makes her way to Josephine’s drawing table, knowing very well that she prefers to eat while working on her art. Clarke used to be the exact opposite, and it usually took her father coaxing her into leaving her sketches to even eat an apple.

“It better not. I have half a mind to tell father that you are becoming incapable of performing your duties, and if he believes that to be true, you’ll be out of here faster than you can scream.”

“You can’t throw me out, Josephine. Your father is legally bound to keep me here until my eighteenth birthday.” Clarke wipes her hands on her apron and looks at the other girl. “Will you be needing anything else?”

“Your eighteenth birthday is in a month,” the girl grins, “I would enjoy your bed while you can, _Cinderella_.” She tries to fix her expression to seem unbothered, but the name makes her want to scream. 

Whenever Russel and his daughters moved in, they did not like the name “Clarke” and took to asking her what her middle name was. When she told them Marcella, they began calling her “Ella.” A name that Clarke wanted to despise, since she liked her name, but her grandmother’s name was Marcella, and her mother told her that she went by Ella, as well. Thankfully, though, her mother always called her Clarke.

Clarke looks at Josephine for a moment, once again taking in their physical similarities while also listing off all of the differences in their personalities before she turns and walks out of the room. It’s hard being in there since Josephine effectively removed any sign of it once being Clarke’s, and, honestly, she’d prefer to never step foot in it again. She gathers Kaylee’s tray and makes her way to her room, knocking gently.

“Kaylee, it’s breakfast time.” The door opens almost immediately, and the younger girl gives her a small smile. “I’m sorry for the delay.”

“It’s not a problem. I haven’t been up long.” Out of all of the Lightborne’s, Kaylee is the mildest. She can still have her tantrums, like any sixteen-year-old, and she is spoiled like her sister, but she seems content on exploring the woods around the house or reading in the garden whereas Josephine has to continually be the center of attention and have a say in everything that needs to be done.

“Is there anything else you need?”

“No, I believe this will be it for now.” Kaylee takes a seat at her table and picks up her book, not bothering to look up at Clarke, and Clarke makes her way back out of the room.

Clarke makes her way to the attic so she can change into her work clothes, then it’s off to feed the animals outside. She stokes the fires to make sure that they’re big enough for when everyone decides it's time to leave their rooms, then she makes her way out the front door to check for the paper before following the path that leads behind the house. 

She picks up the bag of feed for the chickens, and they all see her and rush towards her as she spreads out their food, and when she sees the little group of mice gathered around the well, she tosses them a few pieces, too. Her horse whinnies as she nears it and Clarke smiles as she runs her hand over his muzzle. 

“Hungry?” 

She places out the feed, and her horse digs in, so she gathers some clean water and then surveys the backyard. Even though Russel Lightbourne took to working when Clarke’s mother was still alive, it was clear that he was a man who preferred not to do much. So, once her mother passed, Russel fired the workers that had been around most of Clarke’s life so he wouldn’t have to pay them, and Clarke was ordered to pick up all of the abandoned duties. Because, as Russel put it, “you should be grateful that I do not throw you out despite the order. If you’re going to stay here, you’re going to work for it.”

 _Chop the wood, clean the fireplaces, wash dishes, wash clothes, press and fold the clothes_...Clarke runs through everything she has to do in her mind, but after two years, she doesn’t feel the crushing weight of it anymore. Just like she doesn’t feel a sting whenever she sees Russel doting on his daughters and remembers how her father used to dote on her. 

Drawing her shoulders back, Clarke walks into the house with her chin up, “as a Griffin should,” according to her grandfather, and gets to work washing the pots and pans she used to make breakfast. She can hear Josephine stomping around in her room while she cleans, and then the sound of Russel’s boots thudding on the stairs. 

“Clarke!”

She puts down her rags and makes her way into the parlor. “Yes, sir?” 

“I expect the piano polished before Josephine begins her lessons. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir.” Clarke inclines her head then hurries to grab her cleaning supplies. Josephine usually eats breakfast, then paints for an hour, then gets to work on her singing lessons while Kaylee draws. So, she needs to hurry. 

While she cleans, she remembers when her father would play after coming home from a long journey, and she would sit in his lap while he played, and her mother would sing. Sometimes, her mother would play, and she would dance on her father’s feet, and when she got older, she began to sing, too. They’re her happy memories, but, now, she’s not allowed to touch the piano unless she is cleaning it. Except they can’t say anything when they’re not home.

Clarke takes her time as she wipes down the keys, trying to keep herself from pressing down on them, so she doesn’t make any noise. She has a lot of memories in this room, in this house, and remembering them is what helps her with her current situation. Even if she believes that Rusell and his daughters have destroyed most of it with their idea of what “looks good.” She makes her way through the room and towards the study, knocking.

“Mr. Lightbourne, I’m going to cut more wood.”

The man doesn’t look up from his papers and merely waves his hand, grumbling at her about being back in time to make their lunch, and Clarke assures them that she will be. After, Clarke heads outside again and makes her way back towards her horse. “Hey, Major.” Her horse looks up when she nears him, and he lowers his head over the door of his stable, allowing Clarke to reach out and pet him. “Let’s go for a ride.” Out of everything she needs to do, she knows she can allow herself a little free time so she can exercise her horse. She grabs a satchel and places an ax in it, along with a couple of sugar cubes and some water before she pulls it over her head and mounts her horse. 

Major takes to walking out of the backyard, and when they reach the path through the woods, Clarke urges him forward a little more. She loves the feeling of the wind blowing through her hair, and the sound of Major’s hooves pounding against the ground. She considers it the sound and feeling of freedom, but it’s so close yet so far away. She lets her mind wander as they make their way through the trees, and Clarke can feel a smile spread across her face. When she slows down, there’s the sound of snapping twigs, and Clarke turns to see what’s causing them. 

A massive stag leaps into an opening, and when it turns its head, Clarke realizes that there are two of them. _Two heads._ Clarke’s breath catches. Aside from the two heads, the stag looks perfectly healthy, and she begins to wonder what could have caused this. She begins to remember something her father may have said about two-headed things, but the daze doesn’t last long until there’s voices spreading throughout the land, and the sound of horses approaching them quickly. 

“Go, before they find you,” she whispers, and the stag blinks at her. “Don’t look at me like that, go!” 

The stag looks at her for a beat longer before turning and leaps back into the brush, the sound of men yelling following it. The voices grow louder, and one particularly forceful yell causes Major to start, and Clarke holds onto his mane as he raced through the woods. 

“Major! Easy!” Major jumps over a decaying tree and Clarke yells as she grips her horse’s mane tighter. “Whoa! Major!”

“Whoa!” Another voice comes from beside her, but Clarke is too caught up in trying not to fall off her horse to turn and look at the person. “Easy.” A hand reaches out and grabs Major’s mane, and her horse begins to slow down. “There we go, that’s it.”

Clarke drags air into her lungs, trying to calm her racing heart as she leans forward and runs her hand across Major’s neck. “Good boy.”

“Are you alright?” The stranger asks, and Clarke turns to look at him. _He’s very beautiful_. His black, curly hair is windblown around his head, and the light white shirt he’s wearing is a stark contrast to his skin, which looks almost golden.

“I’m alright. Though I wouldn’t have had a problem if you and your men hadn’t spooked my horse. Or that poor stag. He hasn’t hurt anyone, and yet you chase him through his home like a common criminal.” Clarke circles the stranger, wondering what someone like him is doing so far away from the palace. It’s not like she can’t see the king’s coat of arms embroidered on his saddle, or the expensive bow peeking around his back.

“Is he a friend of yours?” The guy asks, an amused look spreading across his face.

“I would say he’s more of an acquaintance.” She smiles.

“What do they call you?” 

_They_. What do _they_ call you? Clarke presses her lips together, and the man begins to move his horse in a circle, too. “Never mind what they call me.”

“Well, why are you wandering around in the forest alone?”

Clarke wants to tell him that she doesn’t need any protection, but what she says is, “I’m not alone, I’m with you.” She smirks, and the guy lets out a deep chuckle. She’s been exploring these forests before she could even walk, but she doesn’t have to let him know that. 

“Yes, I suppose you are.”

The corners of Clarke’s mouth turn upwards, but she tries not to smile too wide. “What do they call you?” Clarke asks, and the guy looks at her, his eyebrows raising.

“You don’t know how I am?” He laughs, and Clarke narrows her eyes at him.

“No, I do not. Though you must think very highly of yourself if you believe everyone must know who you are.”

The guy smirks. “You’ve got me there. My apologies. I’m Augustus.”

“Augustus?” Clarke echoes, the corners of her lips turning upwards. “Where do you come from, Augustus?”

“The palace,” he says, “I’m like an apprentice.”

Clarke raises one of her eyebrows at him. “And they allow their apprentices so far from the castle walls?”

“Well, we are hunting.” 

“Which brings me back to my earlier point of coming into a person’s home and treating them as if they do not belong.” Clarke stops moving her horse in a circle, and Augustus does the same.

“I can assure you that you—”

“Not me, the stag!” Clarke laughs, and the stranger, Augustus, does the same. “How would you feel if someone came into your home and started chasing you about? I don’t imagine you'd like it.” 

“No, I suppose I wouldn’t,” he agrees, and Clarke’s smile widens a little. 

“So, you won’t hurt him?”

Augustus looks at her for a beat, and Clarke keeps her gaze steady. It’s a fair request. After a while, he says, “no, I won’t hurt him. I give you my word.”

“But not the word of the other men?” Clarke raises one of her eyebrows.

“Their word, too.”

“Then, I believe we have an understanding.” 

“Good.” Augustus smiles, and Clarke finds that she likes it when he does. It’s a radiant smile, and it lights up his entire face. “How—”

“Ah, There you are, y—”

“Augustus, yes.” He nods his head, and Clarke looks between the two men.

“Well, we must be going, Mr. Augustus.”

“Yes, I’m on my way.” Augustus’ eyes never leave Clarke’s, and she can’t find it in herself to look away either. His eyes are brown, but in the sunlight, they keep changing colors. And the light breeze keeps lifting his curls from his forehead and causing them to look even more mused than they already are. _He really is stunning_. “I hope to see you again, miss.”

“And I, you, Augustus.” He smiles at her, and, once again, Clarke finds herself doing the same. She’s pretty sure she hasn’t smiled this much at another person in a very long time, but she tries not to think about that very much.

He inclines his head before turning and joining the rest of the men as they head in the direction of the castle. He turns around to look at her, though, and Clarke gives him a small wave before turning Major and starting towards the spot she usually chops up wood at. With how much time she’s spent talking to Augustus, she’s undoubtedly going to be behind on cutting up the wood, and if she’s behind on that, then she’s going to have to come back once everyone has gone to bed and finish the job. 

While she chops the wood, her mind keeps drifting back to Augustus, and the two-headed deer. If she’s being honest, all of the days have begun to blur together, but this is one she’ll probably remember for a long time. Her father used to say that one day she might meet an apprentice, but her mother had waved him off and said that she would marry a knight, even though Clarke’s father had been an apprentice once. But she tries not to let her mind drift to her parents too much. 

Before she knows it, the sun is nearly at its highest point, and Clarke gathers up the wood that’s cut and places them on the wooden trailer that her father made before hooking it up to Major. It’s a lot of work for little payoff, but there’s not much she can do about it. As she makes her way back to the house, Clarke goes over the rest of the chores she has to do and tries to figure out what the Lightbourne’s might want for lunch. They never tell her, she just has to try and figure it out for herself.

“Cinderella!” Josephine’s shrill sing-song voice calls to Clarke as she enters the backyard, and Clarke looks up at her.

“Yes?”

“You didn’t polish the piano.”

“I did polish the piano, Josephine. Right before I left to chop wood.”

“If _that_ is what you call a polish job, then maybe we should have asked Picasso,” the other girl groans and rolls her eyes, but then her signature, all-knowing smirk spreads across her face. “Father is looking for you.”

Clarke has to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from responding, but the idea that Russel wants to see her sends a chill down her spine. Nothing good ever comes from hearing those words, and Clarke has had enough of Russel Lightbourne’s yelling to last her the rest of her life.

Once Major is unhooked, Clarke makes her way into the house and towards the study. She hates that he’s in there, but it’s not like there’s anything she can do about it. She knocks on the door a couple of times, and his voice booms from the other side, causing her to jump before she pushes the door open.

“You wanted to see me, sir?”

“Clarke, when I ask you to do something, I want it to be to the best of your ability. And then I want you to do it even better. I asked you to polish the piano before Josephine’s lesson, and you did not do it. What would someone think if they came to my house and saw that the piano could not be cleaned properly? They would think we’re barbarian! Unrefined! Scoundrels!”

Even though she is not standing near him, Clarke can still smell the liquor on his breath and what’s hanging in the air. She always knew he had a drinking problem, but her mother wouldn’t listen to her. “I’m sorry, sir, it won’t happen again.”

“It better not. If it does, you will be out of here before you can scream. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Right, then off you go. You’re going to starve us to death.”

Clarke turns on her heels and heads to the kitchen, trying not to let Josephine or Kaylee see how hard she’s trying to hide the fact that her hands keep balling into fists, or the way she’s biting at the inside of her cheek so hard she’s beginning to draw blood. _There’s only a month left_ , she reminds herself, but then, _where will you go?_ As she begins gathering the food for lunch, Clarke can feel a pain in her chest. She doesn’t want to leave her house, her father’s house, but it hasn’t felt like home in a long time. So, maybe she does need to leave, but that seems almost worse than staying. 

For the rest of the day, after she finishes cooking lunch, she gets to work on other things around the house, like washing the clothes, followed by pressing them, then when she’s done with that, it’s time to make dinner. Once the three of them are eating dinner, Clarke gets to work on cleaning the fireplaces in their rooms and builds up new fires with the recently chopped wood, then washes their dinnerware. There are no more reprimands from Russel, but Josephine, as always, seems to have a problem with everything Clarke does. But she’s come to live with it. It’s not hard work necessarily, but having to go out to chop more wood and return the wagon when it’s all over is very draining.

It’s when Clarke is dragging herself into her bed that she remembers who she met. Augustus. Just those few minutes are enough to put a smile on her face, and Clarke finds herself reaching for her journal that she keeps hidden under a plank of wood under her bed. Her journal rests on top of a little box that holds her father’s watch, a picture of her with her parents, some ribbon that her father brought back for her when she was younger, and a doll that her mother gave her when she got sick once. 

Smiling, Clarke settles back onto her pillows and moves the candle on the little table so she can see better. _Where do I start?_ It’s not every day that she gets to talk to an apprentice or a boy for that matter, so, Clarke begins with how her day started, and by the time she’s finished writing her interaction with Augustus, she’s falling asleep with a smile on her face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is going to have 5 chapters, so the plan is to post a chapter a day! I still have 2 chapters left to go, but I'm really enjoying writing this :)
> 
> I hope you liked it!  
> Xx


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke learns that there’s going to be a ball

_Her dad waves goodbye, and Clarke runs after his wagon down the old dirt road, calling after him. “I love you!”_

_“I love you, too, honey!”_

_“You will be back in time, won’t you?”_

_“I wouldn’t miss it for the world!”_

_She stays outside for a long time that day, and when her mother asks if she was alright, Clarke can’t shake the feeling that something is off. She pushes it away though, because her father had traveled hundreds of times in his life, and he always comes back with a gift and more stories to tell. So, Clarke follows her mother into the house, and they begin working on her piano and singing lessons, but Clarke knows that her mother just enjoys listening to her._

_Afterwards, while her mother tends to the garden, Clarke runs around the backyard, playing hide and seek with the four little mice that appeared that morning, though they seem to have an advantage with being so small. But, as usual, her mother tells her to stop playing with rodents, and even mentions something about getting a cat to make sure that they get taken care of. Clarke’s never cared much for cats, so maybe when her father gets back she can convince him to get her a puppy._

_The weeks go by, and the letters that Clarke is used to receiving from her father become fewer and far between until, one day, Mr. Sinclair knocks on their door and says something that tilts Clarke’s entire world on its axis. “Your father is sick, Miss Clarke, and he’s asking for you. I’m afraid he does not have much longer with us.” Clarke didn’t know what to do. She wanted to scream, to cry, to do something, but her mother’s hand on her shoulder calms her, and she melts into her mother’s side._

_Her father is lying in a bed, his face is pale and looks sunken in, almost like he’s a skeleton of the man he used to be. His hands shake as he reaches out for her, and Clarke finally lets her tears fall as she throws herself into her father’s arms. She should have known he wasn’t going to come back home. She could feel it._

_“Don’t cry, honey, it’s going to be okay,” her father murmurs as he runs his hand over her hair. “You’ve already grown into a wonderful young lady, and I know you’ll go on to do wonderful things. You know that don’t you?”_

_“I’m scared.” Clarke lifts up her head and looks at him. His face may not be the same, but she would know those blue eyes anywhere. She got hers from him._

_“It’s okay to be scared. I’m scared, too, but you have to have courage.” Her father smiles a little, and despite the tears streaming down her face, Clarke does the same_

_“And be kind,” she adds._

_“Yes, and be kind. You have more kindness in your little finger than most people possess in their whole body. And it has power, more than you know.”_

_“And magic?”_

_“And magic.” Her father nods his head, smiling wider. “Never forget that, okay? Promise me you’ll never forget it.”_

_“I promise, dad.” More tears blur Clarke’s vision and she buries her face in her father’s chest, with her mother wrapping them both up into a hug._

_“I love both of you, so much.”_

_“We love you, too, Jake,” her mother sniffles, and Clarke clutches to her father more as a sob tears itself from her throat._

Clarke starts awake, her heart racing and the sweat that’s sticking to her skin making her colder than she should be. She can hear the sound of Picasso scratching at her door, and when she begins to wonder if it’s time for her to get up and feed her, but when she looks out of her window, the moon is still high in the sky. Taking a deep breath to try and calm her racing heart, Clarke throws her covers off and opens her door.

“What—” Before she can finish her sentence, Picasso skirts around her legs and makes her way into Clarke’s room, jumping onto her bed. “You know the rules, Picasso, you’re not supposed to be on the bed.” The dog looks at her as she rests her head on her paws, and Clarke laughs. “Okay, _fine_. You’re making me a pushover.” Clarke shakes her head and crawls back into bed, then Picasso stretches out more and lays her head by Clarke’s hand. “Goodnight.” Picasso licks her hand and Clarke scratches behind her ears as she drifts off to sleep again.

  
  


When she wakes up the second time, it’s to the sound of birds chirping outside of her window, and Clarke smiles as she opens it so she can hear them better. Picasso is still sprawled out on her bed, but when Clarke opens the door to her room, the dog jumps up and starts down the hall while Clarke follows her. It’s another day, and another set of chores, but Clarke welcomes them this time. If she’s too busy doing chores and worrying about what else they might have her do today, then she can’t focus on her dream or think about how much her life has changed since she was twelve. 

Going through the motions, Clarke doesn’t get any complaints about breakfast, even Josephine didn’t have anything to say. She’s just finishing up the dishes, wondering what she should do next since she was able to wash all of the clothes the day before, when Russel comes into the kitchen.

“Clarke, you need to go into town.”

“For anything in particular?” She knows that Russel has some sort of income still coming in from Sanctum, but she knows it’s not much compared to the amount of debt he’s collected. 

“We will be having a guest tonight, and I cannot serve him the pathetic food that we have come to call dinner.”

“Yes, sir. I’ll see what I can do.”

“Good.” Russel nods then throws a small leather pouch onto the wooden table that lands with a _thunk_. “I want receipts from everywhere you go, and if I find that there is any missing, it will be your hide.”

“Yes, sir.” Clarke takes the money and slips it into her apron pocket.

“And do change into something less hideous, I cannot have people seeing you in those rags you call clothes.”

“Don’t worry, Mr. Lightbourne, they won't.” Russel huffs and leaves the room, and Clarke turns back to the dishes before rolling her eyes. She knows better than to go into town with her faded blue dress on, especially since there’s the chance of running into people who might remember her family. Even though it’s only been two years since her mother died, people quit checking in on Clarke when her mother got remarried.

As she makes her way up to the attic, Clarke can’t hide the spring in her step at the idea of getting to be around people that aren’t her step-father and her step-sisters. She only goes into town about once a month, maybe twice if Josephine and Kaylee eat more than their father wants them to, and it’s always a nice change. She thinks about Harper and wonders if she’ll be able to see her, and then of Mr. Sinclair and Raven, who she misses dearly. 

Once she changes into a green dress, her only other dress besides a pink one that her mother wore when she was younger and her cleaning dress, she grabs the bag of coins and makes her way towards Major. He bobs his head when he sees her coming, and Clarke grins. “Let’s go for a ride into town.”

Major flies through the open fields as Clarke guides him towards the little buildings in the distance, and Clarke’s laugh gets carried away by the wind. Of all of the little joys that Clarke has in her life, riding her horse is one of her favorites. It reminds her of better times, like when her father first bought her Major, and she likes getting to experience those feelings again. And this time, she’s not clinging onto him for dear life as he hurtles through the trees.

The buildings grow bigger as they bear them, and Clarke’s eyes begin searching the growing crowds to see if she can recognize anyone. When she reaches the fence, Clarke ties Major to it then takes her basket and starts down the road that leads into the town. She can smell the freshly cooked bread coming from the bakery, the sound of metal ringing off in the distance, and of course the sound of everyone milling about. 

“Clarke!” Before Clarke can get a look at the owner of the voice, Harper pulls her into a bone crushing hug. “It’s been forever.” 

“I know, but I’m afraid I can’t stay long.”

“You never can.” Harper sighs and links her arm with Clarke’s. “However, I can catch you up on absolutely everything you’ve missed this past month while we run your errands.”

“I’d love to have company.” Clarke smiles, and the two of them make their way further into town. 

Harper goes through who is trying to court who, who was stealing tools from Sinclair’s, and that apparently a guy named Dax, who Clarke vaguely remembers meeting once, ran off after being accused of nearly killing a man and a girl ran off with him. 

“Seems like I’m out of touch with society,” Clarke muses as she runs her hand over some hanging fabrics. 

“I’ll say. You hardly leave that place and when you do you still have their shadows looking over you.”

“Yes, I suppose I do. Don’t I?”

“Don’t you what?” Another familiar voice comes from behind her and Clarke smiles, turning towards Raven.

“Don’t I miss my other best friend.” Clarke winks, and Raven wraps her in a hug.

“I should hope so. How long are you in town for?”

“Just until I finish my shopping, as usual.” Clarke shrugs, and Raven takes her basket. 

“Well, who are we to stop you?” 

So, the three of them travel around the town while Clarke collects the food that her step-father wants, and Raven tells her about how Sinclair is doing, and how he’ll be happy to hear from her, but at the same time Clarke doesn’t miss the way the baker smiles at Harper or the fact that he just _had_ to have her try one of the new breads that he just made. When her friend looks at her, Clarke raises one of her eyebrows, but Harper only bushes and looks away. 

Just as the last of her shopping is being wrapped up, a group of palace knights ride into the courtyard, and Clarke, Raven, and Harper all gather around as one of the men pulls out a scroll.

“By order of his royal majesty, every maiden within the kingdom is cordially invited to the welcoming ball of Prince Bellamy, in a fortnight. Every maiden is expected to attend, and the Prince shall choose a bride forthwith.”

The corner’s of the man’s mouth are turned down as he speaks, but no one seems to care. Excited murmurs break out across the crowd, and Clarke can feel herself grin. _I can see Augustus again_. The idea of getting to see the apprentice that’s been in her mind since she said goodbye is enough to lift up her spirits for the dinner that night.

“You seem really excited for someone who never cared for visiting the palace, Clarke,” Harper points out. “Why the sudden change?”

“No reason.” Clarke shrugs then looks down at her basket, trying to make it seem as if she’s counting her things when in reality, she already knows what she has. 

“Yes, there is,” Raven says. “Who is it?”

“Why do you assume it’s a person?” 

“Because who else would make you smile like that?” Raven raises one of her eyebrows.

“What’s their name?” 

“There isn’t—”

“Do you really expect us to believe that?” Harper raises her eyebrow, too, and Clarke sighs.

“His name is Augustus, and he’s an apprentice at the palace.”

Harper wrinkles her nose. “Augustus?” 

“Yes, Augustus, and he’s very handsome I might add.”

“With a name like that, I’m sure you’d have to make it up in looks,” Raven teases.

“Maybe the two of you will meet him at the ball.”

“I’m not going.” Harper shrugs. “I have no wish to meet the prince, or to potentially become his bride.”

“Right, because you have Monty Green.” Clarke smiles, and her friend blushes.

“I do not _have_ him.” 

“Not yet.” 

“I’m not going, either,” Raven chimes. “I do not wish to meet the prince.” 

“So the two of you will leave me to endure a night of my step family all because you do not wish to meet the prince?”

“Just because you have to endure them does not mean we have to as well,” Raven wraps an arm around her shoulders, “but I’ll be waiting to hear all about you and your apprentice when you come back.”

“As will I.” Harper smiles.

“Well, if there is anything to tell.” Clarke can feel herself smile, too. “But I should get going, I have to cook dinner for one of Russell's friends tonight. I’ll see you both soon!”

“Bye!”

“Don’t forget to get a kiss!” Raven calls, and Clarke shakes her head as she makes her way back to her horse. 

Unlike the other trips back to the house, Clarke can’t wait to get home and tell her stepfamily of what she heard in the market. Russel has been talking about finding a suitable man for Josephine, for when she comes of age, but as far as Clarke knows, he has not brought the idea up to his daughter. Clarke only knows because she’s seen the letters in the wastebasket when she’s gone to empty them. 

She slides off her horse as she nears the backyard, and Major doesn’t seem to mind being left in his pen as Clarke hurries into the house. She can hear the piano being played, not very well, she might add, and she makes her way towards the room. Inside, Russel is leaning back on the couch while Josephine sits with a pad of paper and some charcoal in front of her, and Kaylee is at the piano, trying to sing. Whenever Clarke rushes into the room, the music stops and Russel glares at her.

“Clarke! I told you to never interrupt rehearsal—”

“Yes, sir, please forgive me, but in town—”

“People realized that you belong in a freak show? We could have told you that,” Josephine laughs, and Clarke digs her nails into her palm to keep from saying something that will undoubtedly get her punished.

“Stepfather, in town palace knights arrived and said that every eligible maiden is allowed to attend the ball that is being held for the prince’s return home two weeks from now.”

“A ball?” Josephine sits up straighter.

“At the palace?” Asks Kaylee.

“And they say he will take a bride that night, whomever he chooses.” 

The room erupts into high-pitched squeals and yells, even Russel himself joins in the excitement, and Clarke stays where she is. _Hopefully they’ll understand that I only want to see Augustus_. She’s not sure how long it takes for the rest of them to calm down, but when they do, Russel claps his hands together.

“Now, we will need to get the two of you to the tailor before they are overrun. We should have time go and come back before dinner.”

“Two?” Clarke says, and the three of them turn to look at her.

“Oh, poor thing,” Josephine pouts, “she thought she would be allowed to go.”

“It would not cost you any—”

“I’m sure the prince would not want the likes of you walking about the castle, Cinderella.” Kaylee rolls her eyes. 

“I’m sorry, but the decree said _every_ eligible maiden in the kingdom, and that includes me.” Clarke can feel her hands clench into fists at her sides. 

“Aw, father, she’s getting angry. Don’t we put Picasso outside when she’s misbehaving?”

“Girls, settle down.” Russel looks at his daughters, but Clarke doesn’t miss the way the side of his mouth curls up. “Clarke, I’m afraid we cannot afford three dresses.”

“But as I said, it would not cost you anything. To say I cannot go would be to go against the king’s orders.”

Russel’s lips purse together, and Clarke believes she may have won. “Fine, you may go—”

“Oh, thank you—”

“ _If_ you complete all of your chores for the next two weeks, and I do mean not a single thing out of place. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir. I understand.”

“But father!” Josephine protests.

“You can’t!”

“You heard what the king said, girls. To forbid Clarke to go would be to go against our majesty’s wishes. Now, how about we go and get the two of you dresses?”

That seems to placate his daughters, because Josephine and Kaylee only glare at Clarke as they walk out of the room, and Clarke ducks her head as she follows behind them, hoping her hair covers just how wide she’s smiling.

The topic during dinner that night is all about the upcoming ball. Russel’s guest That night is a young man named Gabriel, who Russell knew back in Sanctum. He’s a handsome man, but Clarke doesn’t find him as handsome as Augustus. But, even though Josephine seems to be pointedly ignoring him, Clarke doesn’t miss the way Gabriel’s eyes always seem to find her and how he smiles a little wider when she laughs. _Josephine may be hung up on the prince, but Gabriel doesn’t seem to mind._

As usual, Clarke brings the food out and disappears into the kitchen again, waiting. While she watches for when to bring out the next round of food, she can’t help but think about what she’s going to wear to the ball. She doesn’t have much in the way of clothes, much less ball gowns, but she thinks about her mother’s pink one and reckons she can do something to make it look more up to date with the times. Yeah, she can do something with it. 

  
  


Dinner goes by uneventfully, and it’s only when Gabriel is saying his goodbyes that Clarke begins to wonder if this was supposed to be a marriage proposal, but if Josephine has a shot with the prince, then why would she settle for less? She watches Gabriel’s carriage leave down the old dirt road, and she begins to wonder if Russel will turn Gabriel away completely and just rely on the prince to choose his daughter, _but he can’t possibly be that naive…_

Clarke shrugs, turning back to the dishes. It’s not her place to speculate and, if she’s being honest, she doesn’t really care. If her father was alive, he would make sure to find her a suitable match and not rely on a fantasy that she would become a princess. He would listen to her if she said that she wanted something else.

After a few more hours of work, with her hands aching and her back tied in knots, Clarke climbs the stairs up to her room and pushes open her door. Soon, it’ll begin to grow colder and she’ll have to resort to sleeping by the fires in the kitchen again. It’s not ideal, but anything is better than slowly freezing to death in the night. 

Even though her body is trying to force her to rest, Clarke grabs a blank piece of paper she was able to hide and settles on her bed with a small piece of graphite. Her mind has been running with possibilities for what she can do with her mother’s dress, and she knows that she won’t be able to sleep until she settles on one. With the amount of work that she has to do during the day, she’s not able to work on the dress while the sun is still out, so she’s going to have to take a few hours each night to work on it. Even if it means she will miss out on sleep. _Going to the ball will be worth it_ , she tells herself. _I know it will be._

Smiling, Clarke sets her pencil to the page and looks over at her mother’s old dress. It’s not terrible, in fact Clarke used to love it, and she still does, but she can’t walk into the palace with it how it is. Lines begin to form on the page, and an image sharpens itself in her mind as she draws. It may not be a tailor-made dress, but it’ll be her dress. She thinks of Augustus, and even though his clothes were palace made, he saw her in her pale blue work dress. Surely he can’t fault her for not having the best gown? 

She pushes the thought away, and lets herself get lost in the work before her. If she’s going to get her dress done in time, she can’t afford to think of _what if’s_ and _maybes_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ll see you guys tomorrow ;)
> 
> I hope you liked it!  
> Xx


	3. Chapter 3

For two weeks, Clarke works well into the night, long after her stepfather and step-sisters have gone to bed, preparing her dress for the ball. Picasso keeps her company most nights, and Clarke has taken to asking her opinion whenever she wonders if she should deviate from her original design. Picasso always seems excited no matter what. 

Now, the night before the ball, Clarke steps back and admires her handywork. She’s redone the neckline, the sleeves, the hem, even added some extra ribbon that Josephine threw out around the front of it. It’s not much, but Clarke is proud of how it came out. After all, she’s better at drawing than she is actually making things. 

The usual sound of Picasso pawing at her door tears Clarke’s attention away from the finished dress in front of her, and Clarke smiles as she lets the dog in. “Come look at the finished piece.” Picasso prances into her room and Clarke catches sight of something in her mouth, but before she can move to see what it is, the dog jumps onto her bed and sits, looking at her. In her mouth is a white beaded necklace, a little covered in dirt and dog slobber, but still pretty nonetheless. “Is that for me?”

Picasso barks softly, and Clarke smiles as she reaches out and takes it. It will need to be cleaned up, but it should work as an accessory for her dress. When she looks back at her handy work, her smile widens. _I’m going to the ball_. She’s been very good about making sure all of her chores are done over the past two weeks, even if it means taking more time than she should, but now she’s finished. Her chores are done, her dress is done, and she still has time to go to sleep before she has to wake up again. 

Clarke places the necklace around the neck of her dress and takes one last look at it before she turns and gets into bed. She’s going to have to make sure to get all of her chores done well before it’s time to head to the ball so she can get ready, so as soon as she lays in the bed, Picasso curls up at her side, and Clarke’s eyes fluttered closed. 

  
  


The morning goes as well as she could have hoped, because no one complains, save Josephine, as usual, and Clarke feels like she’s getting everything done relatively quickly. She gets breakfast cooked and out sooner than usual, which leaves her more time to begin cleaning up the kitchen before she brings everyone their food. Then, it seems as if her stepfamily takes more time eating their breakfast today, so she’s able to begin cleaning out the fireplaces before she has to take their dishes and wash them. The trend continues and Clarke can feel herself beginning to relax, because she’s going to be done with enough time to spare. Until…

“Cinderella!” Josephine’s voice rings throughout the house, and Clarke sighs as she quits sweeping.

“Yes, Josephine?” She calls up the stairs.

“Where is my purple shawl? I told you to press it!”

“It’s in your wardrobe.” Clarke fights her urge to sound annoyed, because she knows that if she does, she’ll get the wrath of Josephine and then her father.

“No it’s not! Do you really believe that I would _not_ think to look there?” 

_Yes_ . Silently cursing, Clarke props her broom up against the hand railing then starts up the stairs towards Josephine’s room. _Josephine would lose her head if it was not attached to her body_. Josephine can never find her clothes, which means Clarke is _always_ the one at fault. Clarke knocks on her stepsister’s door and it flies open, a seething Josephine on the other side of it.

“I may have misplaced it.” Clarke says calmly, and Josephine snorts as she throws her door wider.

“ _May have_. You know that you did!” 

Clarke says nothing as she walks into the other girl’s room, and tries not to cringe at how wrecked it looks. Normally, Josephine is actually pretty good about keeping her things in their places, but it looks like a storm has blown through it now. “I don’t think you would be able to find anything in this mess,” Clarke mutters to herself, but Josephine hears it anyway.

“My thoughts exactly. Clean my room and let me know when you’ve found my shawl.” And with that, Josephine turns on her heel, a whirlwind of fabric, and slams the door behind her. Clarke blinks. _What?_ _She can’t be serious_. 

Taking another look around the room, Clarke can feel a pit of dread beginning to form in her stomach. Every single item that Josephine owns seems to be out of disarray, and if Clarke does not put all of it back in the exact place that it’s supposed to be in, then Josephine will throw a fit. Because, of course, Clarke can read minds and knows exactly how her wicked stepsister keeps everything. She takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. _It seems like a lot, but you’ve cleaned her room before. You got this..._ she repeats the process a couple of times, then decides the can’t afford to waste much more time. She has a ball to get ready for, after all.

So, Clarke gets to cleaning. For the most part, she just beats the dust of Josephine’s clothes, since she just washed them, and folds them then puts them back in the drawers where they belong. Then, she picks up the books, straightening some of the pages that have been bent, and puts them back on the shelves. It’s not hard, there’s just a lot. As she’s a little over halfway done, and a few hours have gone by, Clarke hears Kaylee’s voice drift up to the second floor from the practice room, and Clarke finds herself beginning to hum.

 _Oh, sing sweet nightingale_  
 _Sing sweet nightingale_ _  
High above me_

It’s the song most girls are taught to try and sing as they grow, but some of them are never able to quite reach the level they’re supposed to be at. Josephine has a little trouble with it, too. While she works, Clarke lets herself get lost in the music, and soon it feels as if she’s moving without having to think about what she’s doing. In the end, she finishes Josephine’s room with time to make lunch before it’s considered “late.” 

She grabs Josephine’s folded shaw off the table and carries it with her down to the practice room, handing it off to her glaring stepsister before making her way into the kitchen. The two girls told her that they did not want to eat much so they could fit into the dresses, so Clarke does her best to make them filling, yet small meals to try and help them. Thankfully, they don’t complain. 

As Clarke is finishing up the last of the lunch dishes, there’s a shriek from the living room and the sound of Russel yelling, along with excited barks from Picasso. _What..._ Clarke dries her hands on her apron then starts towards the living room. When she walks through the doorway, she gasps. Picasso is covered in mud and tracking it all through the house. Then, as Clarke is watching, Picasso stops and Clarke darts forward, grabbing a blanket off the back of the couch and throwing it over the dog as she shakes out her coat. A few splatters of mud get on her dress, and some more onto the hardwood floor, but that can easily be cleaned. 

“Oh, she’s disgusting.” Kaylee scrunches up her nose and glares at the dog. “What did you get yourself into?”

Picasso lets out an excited bark, and Russel sighs. “She’ll need to be washed. Thoroughly.” 

Clarke looks from Russel to Picasso, then at the clock on the wall. It’s going to take ages to clean all of the mud out of Picasso’s coat, and then Clarke is going to have to wash herself thoroughly, too, and there’s only a couple of hours left until they’ll head for the ball. She opens her mouth to protest, then closes it. If she argues...let’s just say she doesn’t want to see that result.

“Clarke, take Picasso out back and make sure that there is nothing left of this disaster.”

“Yes, sir.” Clarke bends down and grabs Picasso’s collar.

“And I want that blanket cleaned and put back as well. The couch looks hideous without it.”

“I’ll have it done, soon.”

Clarke tries to not let her disappointment show as she walks Picasso into the backyard, and once they’re out of the house, Picasso sits down and looks up at her. “Why did you do this?” Picasso blinks at her. “Fine, don’t answer me, but you are not sleeping in my bed tonight.” Picasso whines softly, and Clarke looks at her. “Nope, none of that. Now, come on, I need to tie you up.”

Once Picasso is secured, Clarke gets to work hauling buckets of water from the well until she’s filled about three of them, then sits on a wooden stool and begins scrubbing at all of the mud. It hasn’t rained that recently, so most of the puddles in the yard are nearly dried, but Clarke assumes that Picasso probably journeyed to the pond and decided to take a mud bath. Usually, she wouldn’t travel so far away from the house, but...she is a dog.

After Clarke determines that she’s gotten as much of the mud off as she can, she starts towards the barn to grab the piece of soap she usually keeps outside for quick hand washes. Really, she needs to clean everything out and reorganize it since it’s beginning to become a little crowded, but that’s an issue for another day. Clarke jumps over a couple containers, and nearly slips on some straw, but she finally reaches the soap without falling. It’s not much, but it’ll be enough. 

On her way out of the barn, something colorful catches her attention, and Clarke stops. Stuffed inside an old chest that her father had once used, was one of Josephine’s dresses, and even one of Kaylee’s. And they were filthy. It’s not like her stepsisters to even step foot in the backyard, much less into the barn. Clarke bends down and picks up the ruined material. The hems are torn, there’s rips everywhere, and most of the color is covered with mud. _Those evil girls_. Clarke throws the dresses back into the chest and makes her way to Picasso. _They knew it would take me forever to clean Picasso, and that I would have to take time to clean myself, as well. All because they don’t want me to go to a ball_. She huffs.

As she takes up her place on the stool again, she tries to figure out just when her stepsisters could have left to get Picasso dirty without her realizing it. But she doesn’t remember hearing anything from the two of them while she was cleaning Josepine’s room, and usually they aren’t the quietest of people...sighing Clarke starts to lather Picasso up with the soap. _There’s nothing I can do about it now_. Picasso whimpers, and Clarke knows that she doesn’t enjoy being bathed, so Clarke presses a quick kiss to the top of her head.

“It’ll be over soon.”

And, sure enough, Clarke is able to finish cleaning Picasso with enough time to clean herself up, as well. In the end, it seems to have worked out perfectly. Picasso is cleaned, the blanket is cleaned, Clarke was able to get cleaned up as well, and just as she places her foot onto the bottom step to head to her room, her name gets called.

“Oh, Cinderella!” Josephine sticks her head out of Kaylee’s bedroom door. “Kaylee and I need help getting into our dresses.”

 _Can’t you help each other into your dresses?_ Clarke groans inwardly then starts towards the room. Inside, it is a flurry of colors as the two girls run around, and there’s fabric strewn across almost every surface. _It looks like a tailoring shop threw up in here_. Josephine beckons Clarke over then rests her hands on the bed frame.

“I need my corset tied.” Clarke says nothing as she begins working on her stepsister’s corset. She hasn’t seen the dresses that they ordered, but from how big their crinolines are, she doesn’t know if she wants to. “Tighter.” Josephine demands, and Clarke pulls on the strings. “Tighter.” Eyebrows furrowing, Clarke pulls harder, watching as the spaces close between the material. “Tighter!” Clarke tugs one last time and a gasp sounds from Josephine. “Perfect.”

“Do you really think that having a small waist will catch the Prince’s attention?” Kaylee teases. “It only makes your large head look even bigger.”

“What? And you believe that just the right color of lipstick will catch his attention?” Josephine fires back, and Kaylee raises her chin.

“Looking beautiful is what will catch his attention. Not that you would know anything about that.”

“Oh, like wearing that yellow monstrosity you call a dress will work in your favor!” 

Clarke bites the inside of her cheek to keep herself from smiling too much, but she enjoys when her stepsisters go after each other. Were they not related, Clarke is pretty sure that they would hate each other. Clarke keeps her comments to herself as she finishes tying up Josephine’s corset, then she moves on to Kaylee’s.

“A little tighter,” Kaylee says between breaths, and Clarke does as she’s told. Though she doesn’t pull nearly as hard on Kaylee’s strings before the other girl tells her that it’s fine. 

Then, her two stepsisters put on their crinoline, and shoo her out of the room. Almost as if they expect her to steal their dresses. Checking her father’s watch, Clarke realizes that she still has a little bit of time left in order for her to get ready herself. Smiling, she bounds up the stairs to her room, and shuts the door behind her. Her mother’s newly remade dress hangs before her, and Clarke’s smile widens. _I’m going to the ball_. 

She puts it on carefully, and takes as much time as she can to look at herself in the mirror. She’s never favored pink, even though her mother adored her in it, but since it’s her mother’s dress, she loves it. There’s ruffles along the neckline, and the sleeves stop just before her elbows. It looks wonderful, considering how old it is. Next, she takes the beads that Picasso brought her and she cleaned, then hooks them around her neck. _Perfect_.

“Hurry up, girls! Our carriage is here!” Russel’s voice is muffled through the door, but Clarke can feel her heart rate pick up. 

Taking a quick, deep breath, Clarke turns and starts out her door, making her way back down the stairs. She can see the end of multicolored dress, though it looks like it’s supposed to be mostly pink, and she wrinkles her nose. _Who would wear that?_

“Perfect, let’s go!”

“Wait! Please!” Clarke bounds down the last few steps and stops at the bottom one. “I’m ready, too.”

Her stepfamily stop and blink at her. “You’re _ready?_ ” Josephine scoffs. “Ready for what? To milk a cow?”

“You said that if I finished every single one of my chores, all of them, with nothing out of place, then I would be able to go to the ball.” Clarke recalls, and Russel raises an eyebrow at her.

“So, I did.”

“Father, you can’t be serious! Look at her! She would make a mockery of us!” Josephine, protests.

“Her dress is _hideous_!”

“It was my mother’s.” Clarke glares at Kaylee before turning back to her stepfather, and she would swear that his eyes seem to soften. “Please, stepfather, I never ask you for anything.” Clarke folds her hands in front of her and her fingers run over the face of her father’s watch. _Have courage_. His voice echoes in her mind, and Clarke lifts her chin and straightens her posture. How a lady should hold herself. 

“Well, I am a man of my word,” he sighs, and Clarke can feel her face light up.

“Thank you.” Clarke makes her way off the last step and starts towards the door, but Josephine steps in her way.

“Do you really think that playing dress up for one night will change who you are? A lowly wench who will never amount to anything other than being a dust collector.”

“Josephine,” Russel snaps, but his daughter keeps going.

“You are a servant, and that is all you will ever be. One night in the palace will not change who you are.” The corners of Josephine’s lips turn up in snarl. “Let me show you.” Before Clarke can figure out what she could possibly mean, Josephine reaches up and rips the sleeve of her dress. 

“What—”

“Such a pity.” Then, she grabs the ruffles on her neckline. “So sad.”

“Josephine!” Clarke protests, but her stepsister only shrugs.

“I believe I’ve made an improvement. And,” Josephine’s eyes spark, “Kaylee, do you like her necklace?”

“Of course, I don’t—Hey!” Kaylee storms towards her, but Clarke is too shocked to move from her spot. “Give me my necklace back!” She grabs ahold of the beads and pulls them off Clarke’s neck.

“I didn’t know—”

“Thief!” Kaylee reaches out grabs the ribbon around Clarke’s waist and tugs. “I bet you stole this out of my room, too!”

“I didn’t!”

“Enough!” Russel’s voice booms throughout the entryway, and all of the girls freeze. “We have a ride waiting for us.” He opens the door and motions outside.

“Have fun, _Cinderella_.” Josephine spits, and walks out the door, Kaylee following behind her. Russel pauses before he follows after his daughters, but he doesn’t look back at Clarke before he walks through the door and shuts it firmly behind him.

Standing there, the tears flow freely down Clarke’s cheeks, and she makes no move to wipe them away. Something inside her breaks, and Clarke turns, running through the house and into the backyard. She runs past Major’s stall as he watches her, and she makes her way towards the lake, falling to her knees as she reaches the old stone bench that her mother used to sit at while Clarke’s father taught her how to swim.

She can’t tell how long she cries there, but she can feel the wet mud seeping through the fabric of her ripped dress, but she doesn’t care. In a month, she’ll be away from this place, and then she won’t have to see these terrible people ever again. She knows that, if she asks, Sinclair will employ her, and she can make some money that way. 

“I’m sorry, father,” she says between gasps. “I’m so sorry. I said I would have courage, but I don’t. Not anymore.”

“Excuse me, dear,” a woman’s voice comes from beside her, and Clarke lifts her head to look at her, “why are you crying?”

“It’s nothing,” Clarke sniffles.

“Really? I doesn't seem like nothing.” Clarke blinks away the tears in her eyes so she can get a better look at the lady. She has long, dark brown hair, and her eyes are dark, too. She reaches out and moves a strand of hair away from Clarke’s face. “While I really hate to rush you, we really must be going.”

“Going?” Clarke sits back on her feet and looks up at the woman. “I’m afraid you have the wrong person.”

“Do I? And why do you say that?”

“Because I’m—” Clarke closes her mouth. She was about to say “nobody,” but she does not want to actually voice her thoughts.

“You are Clarke Griffin, are you not?”

“Yes, but—”

“Then, there you go!” The lady stands, and walks a few feet away. “Now, we must hurry, because you shall go to the ball!”

Before Clarke can question her further, the woman throws what appears to be a walking stick into the air, and Clarke watches as sparks fly from both of ends of it as it twirls. When it comes back down, the other girl catches it, and her dark clothes disappear. Replaced by a brilliant white dress.

“There. That’s better.”

“You’re my fairy godmother.” Clarke whispers.

“Yes, I am. My name is Becca.” Her fairy godmother smiles and curtsies slightly. “Now, we don’t have much time to waste!”

Her fairy godmother starts back towards the house, leaving Clarke no option but to follow her. _I have a fairy godmother_. Her mother always used to tell her stories about fairy godmothers and how they were always watching over them. She quit believing as she got older, but, now, she realizes that maybe she shouldn’t have. The fairy stops in the opening of the backyard, and Clarke comes to a stop behind her.

“Now, let’s see what we need.” Becca searches around the yard until, “ah! That’ll do.”

“What’ll do?”

“That pumpkin!”

“A pumpkin?”

Her fairy godmother turns to look at her and winks. “Salagadoola mechicka boola,” she waves her wand in the air. “Bibbidi-bobbidi-boo.”

Clarke laughs at the song, but it turns into quite amazement as a pumpkin goes flying through the air. It grows as it moves until it comes to a stop in the open space. The orange of it gone, replaced by a beautiful guild that looks stunning, and the vines are now wheels.

“It’s beautiful.” Clarke smiles as she looks at it. 

“Why thank you, my dear. It’s the first time I’ve ever worked with a pumpkin.” Her fairy godmother grins. “Now, you’ll need horses.”

“Well, I have Major—”

“Oh, not him. I have another job for him.” Becca turns around and scans the yard once again. “Now, I just saw them. Where did they go?”

Clarke begins looking around the yard, too, wondering what it is her fairy godmother may be looking for. But she can’t see anything. 

“There you are! You sneaky devils. Bibbidi-bobbidi-boo!” The fairy waves her wand and Clarke watches as sparks fly towards a group of four mice. They try to run away, but the spell finds them. Clarke’s eyes widen as the small mice turn into large, white horses. “Now, Major.” She waves her wand once again, humming, and Clarke’s horse lifts through the air, turning into a man with slightly too large front teeth. “You shall be a coachman tonight.” 

Human-Major smiles a wide smile and nods his head. “Good. Now, you need a footman. Where’s the dog?” 

“Picasso? Oh, but she—”

“Has a human’s name already! Lovely.” Once again, Becca waves her wand in the air and Picasso’s tail disappears, and her fur disappears, too, until there's blonde hair similar to Clarke’s that’s pulled back into a ponytail. “Now, everything seems to be in order so, off you go! The ball doesn't wait for anyone!”

“Oh, fairy godmother—”

“There’s no need to thank me dear—”

“Oh, I wasn’t,” Clarke says, but when Becca raises an eyebrow, she continues. “I mean, I love this, all of this, it’s absolutely beautiful! I just don’t think I can go to the ball dressed in this.” Clarke looks down at her dress.

“Oh, good gracious. No, I don’t think you can either.” Becca props her head up in her hand and scrunches her face in concentration as she looks at the dress. “I have just the thing. Close your eyes.”

Clarke does as she’s told, and waits. She can hear Becca hum, and then it feels like soft drops of water are falling onto her skin as wind whips around her. Her hair falls over her shoulders and her hands rest on the poofy fabric of her skirts.

“You may open your eyes.”

Clarke’s eyes blink open, and when she looks down, she gasps. The sleeves rest just off her shoulders, and there’s glittering butterflies woven into the fabric. Her skirts are beautiful, too, and despite their size, they don’t feel heavy at all. Gone is her torn pink dress, and in its place is a beautiful pale silver-blue gown that reminds her of starlight. Whenever the light dances across it, it's hard to tell if it's silver, or blue, or white, but, it is magical. 

“It’s beautiful,” Clarke breathes. _Too beautiful._ Curious, she lifts up her skirt and looks at her shoes. “Glass?”

“And quite comfortable.” Her fairy godmother winks. “Now, hurry! Hurry!”

“Thank you, fairy godmother.” Clarke smiles, and the other woman waves her off.

“It’s my pleasure, dear. Now dance the night away!”

“I will.” Clarke continues to grin as she walks towards the carriage. “Oh! But what about my stepfather and my stepsisters? Won’t they recognize me?”

“You won’t have to worry about that.” Becca holds out her hand and helps Clarke into the carriage. “But one more thing! I can’t believe I almost forgot.” Becca closed the door to the carriage. “The magic can’t last. On the last stroke of midnight, everything will go back to the way it was before, so you must be careful.”

“I will, fairy godmother,” Clarke assures her. “Thank you, again.” 

“What are fairy godmothers for?” Becca smiles then steps back. “Alright, Major. Get our girl to the ball!”

Human-Major neighs and the carriage starts forward. _I can’t believe this is happening._ Clarke leans out the window and waves goodbye at Becca until she’s out of sight, then she turns around in her seat. _I’m going to the ball._ Clarke takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. “ _Have courage, sweetheart._ ” Clarke continues to take deep breaths as the carriage makes its way through the woods, and when they break through the trees, she can see the castle in the distance. 

“I can do this.” The carriage continues forward, and a smile breaks out on her face.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's ball time! :)

When the carriage pulls up to the front of the castle, Clarke can’t keep her heart from feeling like it’s about to jump out of her chest. Human-Picasso opens the door and holds out a hand, which Clarke knows should be a paw, and helps her out of the carriage. The castle’s steps rise before her, and Clarke gulps. _Well, here goes nothing_. Taking a step forward, Clarke marvels at how soft her shoes seem, and then she forces herself to take another step. Then another. Then another...the stairs seem never ending, but the thought of what is happening on the other side of the doors is what keeps her going. 

As she makes her way into the castle, the guards open the doors for her and she finds herself in a long hallway. There’s paintings and tapestries lining the walls, and soldiers standing guard between the spaces. The place is huge, a lot bigger than any place Clarke has ever been in. Her heels click softly on the floor, barely making any noise which she’s surprised at. There’s nothing saying “Ball This Way,” so Clarke keeps walking. 

Eventually, the hall curves and Clarke sees two large bouquets of flowers on either side of the double doors, and the two soldiers standing guard open them. She can hear people talking on the other side, and when she walks through the doorway, her breath is taken away. 

There’s a large chandelier hanging from the high ceiling, casting shimmers all around the room from its crystals, and pedestals with more flowers sitting on top of them. The railings are covered in decorations, prettier than Clarke could have dreamed, but what catches her attention is the amount of people looking at her. Taking a deep breath, Clarke sees the king sitting on the opposite end of the room, and bows, low and deep how her mother taught her, then makes her way down the stairs.

A murmur erupts throughout the room, but Clarke ignores it. Focusing instead on the man making his way through the crowd. Even though it’s been two weeks and she’s only seen him once, she feels like she would recognize that head of curly black hair anywhere. Except, now, she knows that it does not belong to an apprentice, but apparently the prince. He’s dressed in a deep blue coat with gold accents, causing his skin to look as if it really is golden, and the sight takes Clarke’s breath away. 

When she reaches the bottom of the stairs, the prince, Bellamy, as she now understands, bows, and she does the same. When they straighten, he holds out his hand.

“It would give me the greatest pleasure, if you would do me the honor of letting me lead you through thie first...” he trails off, still looking at her, and Clarke smiles.

“Dance?”

“Yeah,” he smiles a little, too. “Dance.” 

“I would be delighted, your highness.” She raises one of her eyebrows at the title, and Bellamy’s smile turns to a grin as he takes her hand and leads her to the center of the dance floor. He spins her towards him, and Clarke places her hand on his shoulder. “I’m afraid it’s been a very long time since I’ve danced,” she whispers, and Bellamy gives her side a reassuring squeeze, causing her to gasp.

“Just follow me.” When the music starts, he winks, and then they’re off.

They haven’t moved much when Clarke is acutely aware of the fact that everyone is staring at them. Which, of course they are, he’s the prince, but the fact that her stepfather and her stepsisters are also watching her causes panic to begin to rise in her throat. _Will they recognize me?_ _They haven’t yet, but what if…_

The feeling of Bellamy’s hand grabbing her own causes her to look at him, and he smiles. It’s a beautiful smile, just as she remembers it from the woods that day. It feels like it was an eternity ago, but it’s only been two weeks. He spins her around, and her thoughts about her stepfamily and her stepsisters disappear, as does the worry about all of the guests looking at the two of them. 

“Do they all have to be staring at you?” Clarke whispers when he pulls her closer, and Bellamy chuckles. 

“Believe me, they’re all looking at you.” He continues to smile as he picks her up and spins her around. “You don’t have stage fright, do you?”

Before Clarke can answer, they’re off again. _He’s a really good dancer, but he is the prince, after all_. They move around the dance floor once again, and Clarke realizes that all of the guests have moved backwards to give them more room. She didn’t think that they would take up so much space, but when Bellamy lifts her up a second time, she understands that people probably didn’t want to get hit by her flying skirts. When he sets her down, he spins her into a dip, and Clarke is suddenly aware of how close they are.

They’re both breathing hard, and Clarke’s heart seems to be lodged in her throat as she looks at him. His black hair is wild, and there’s a slight flush on his cheeks that makes her heart ache. _He’s gorgeous_. As she looks at his face, he’s looking at hers, but when their eyes meet, he smiles. After a beat, he rights them and bows, causing Clarke to do the same. Dancing with him is unlike any dancing she’s ever done before, but most of that was done on her father’s feet when she was younger.

As soon as one song ends, another begins, and all of the other guests join the floor. Bellamy pulls her towards him, but just when she thinks he’s about to sweep her into another dance, he grabs her hand. 

“Follow me.” 

Not hesitating, Clarke squeezes his hand and she gets a glimpse of that beautiful smile before he’s guiding her towards a door on the side of the room. _I can’t believe he’s the prince_. He leads her through the door and down the hall a little before pushing into another room, and Clarke gapes at what’s inside of it. There’s artwork all over the walls, and all of it is so _beautiful_. 

“I can’t believe you came,” Bellamy says once the door has closed behind them. 

“Well, I can’t believe you lied to me and told me you were an apprentice.” Clarke looks at him, eyebrows raising.

“Technically, I am an apprentice. My father is still teaching me how to run a kingdom.” Bellamy points out, and, well, he is right.

“You also told me your name was Augustus, but everyone knows your name, Bellamy.” The corners of Bellamy’s mouth turn upwards when she says his name. “How did you even come up with Augustus?” Now, she’s faced with a blushing prince.

“He was a Roman emperor,” Bellamy explains, and when Clarke chuckles, he shrugs. “I panicked.”

“Did you think I would throw myself at your feet and claimed that I loved you if you had told me you were the prince?” She asks, and Bellamy shakes his head.

“No, I didn’t.” He walks towards her, and Clarke can feel her breath catch. “But I believed you to be a farm girl, yet here you stand a princess.”

_A princess?_ Clarke thinks about what her fairy godmother said, and she can feel something pull at her heart. _This isn’t going to last_.  
  
“I never claimed to be anything else,” she says, and the way Bellamy looks at her unsettles her slightly. She looks down, wondering what would happen if she did just tell him who she really is, but before she can get her thoughts in order, his fingers come to rest under her chin as he turns her face up to his.

“No more secrets, okay?”

“Okay.” Clarke smiles at him, and he does the same. 

“Would you like a tour?”

“Yes, please.” 

Bellamy continues to smile as he holds out his arm, and Clarke takes it as he leads her through the doors on the other side of the room and out into the night air. At the back of the castle, there is a large maze with hedges that come up to her hips, and a very large fountain in the middle of it. Bellamy leads her down the curving staircase and towards the entrance to it.

“I spend a lot of time out here,” he says. “It’s a wonderful place to think.”

“I could imagine.” Clarke looks around. “My father used to love being outside, especially by the pond. He said it helped him whenever he was having a hard time with something.”

“Used to?” 

“He died when I was twelve.” When she says it, the pain doesn’t come like it usually does.

“I’m sorry.” Bellamy looks at her. “I lost my mother when I was young, too.”

Clarke barely remembers that, since she was young, but she remembers her parents talking about it, and how her mother would cry on the anniversary of her death. The day Queen Aurora died was a very sad day for the kingdom, but it’s said that there was nothing they could have done to save her. She got too sick too fast. Just like Clarke’s father.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.” Bellamy places his free hand over hers and squeezes. 

The two of them continue to walk in silence for a little while, but it’s comfortable. She lets herself look around the courtyard, and tries to figure out all of the different sounds. Even though they’re a little ways away from the castle now, she can still hear the music playing through the thick walls, and she can hear the sound of running water, and the slight breeze ruffling the leaves of the bushes. It’s lovely, just as she thought it would be.

“Why did you choose a Roman emperor as your name?” Clarke asks when they round a corner, and Bellamy’s cheeks turn pink again.

“I have a love for history. And mythology. So, when I panicked, I thought of the first name that came to mind. My sister is named after him.”

_Octavia. Octavian_. Clarke smiles. “Did you name her?”

“Yes, I did.” Bellamy beams. “When my mother asked me what her name should be, and told me that she would not change it, I believe they did not expect me to say that.”

“No, I suppose they didn’t.” Clarke chuckles lightly. “How did—”

“Ow!” A sharp cry breaks Clarke off, but before she can ask what that was, Bellamy is taking off towards the sound. Clarke hesitates, worried about having to run in glass slippers, but she doesn’t hesitate for long, trusting that whatever injuries she sustains won’t be so bad. So, she follows the path that Bellamy ran down.

When she turns the corner, she sees a girl with dark hair sitting on the edge of the fountain and Bellamy kneeling before her. The girl’s dress is beautiful, and elaborate, and when she looks up, Clarke can only assume that it’s the princess. Octavia’s face is set in a grimace, but there are no tears on her face, despite the blood that’s running down her leg.

“Are you okay?” Clarke asks, and the princess nods her head.

“I tripped trying to catch a rabbit.”

“You shouldn’t be out here by yourself, O. Remember what happened last time?”

“How was I supposed to know that it was going to rain?” Octavia scowls, and the corners of Bellamy’s mouth turn upwards.

“Because I remember father telling you.” Bellamy looks down at the cut on his sister’s knee, and Clarke looks closer to inspect it, too. “You’re going to need to get this cleaned.”

“Come on, Bell, if I go to grandmother now then she’ll send me to my room and I won’t be able to enjoy the ball.”

“You’re not even _in_ the ballroom to enjoy it.” Bellamy points out, and the little girl huffs.

“I was _going_ to go.”

“I can clean it,” Clarke says, and the siblings turn to look at her, “if you’d like.”

“You can?” Octavia sits up straighter and smiles. 

“Yes, I can. Give me one second, your highness.” Clarke turns to walk towards the water pump that she saw.

“Octavia is fine. I don’t like titles.”

Clarke turns towards the girl and smiles. “Okay, Octavia.”

Clarke grabs the empty bucket and fills it up halfway with water before walking back to where Octavia is still sitting with Bellamy. The prince raises an eyebrow at her, but Clarke ignores it. If he believes that she’s a princess, then her carrying a bucket of water would seem odd, but she doesn’t know if she should tell him the truth or not. Clarke sets the bucket of water down and lifts up her skirts so she can kneel beside Octavia’s injured leg. The cut is long, but it’s not very deep, though there’s gravel embedded into her skin. 

“Do you have a cloth?” Clarke asks, and Bellamy pulls a handkerchief out of his pocket, handing it to her. “Thank you.”

Clarke dips the rag into the water then rings it out slightly before touching it to the drying blood on the outside of the cut. She thinks about her mom, and how careful she always was, and finds that she’s started humming along to the song that her mother used to sing. 

_If your dilly-dilly heart_ _  
__Feels a dilly-dilly way_ _  
__If you'll answer yes_  
 _In a pretty little church_ _  
On a dilly-dilly day..._

She doesn’t notice the way Bellamy looks at her, or how he seems incapable of looking anywhere _but_ at her, she just continues to work. Octavia hisses a little when she moves to clean the wound itself, but the girl says nothing. When she’s done, the cut is still angry and red, but it looks clean. Not having another cloth to wrap around it, Clarke doesn’t think twice about ripping the hem of her petticoat and wrapping it around the princess’s leg, securing it tightly over the injury.

“There. Now, you won’t have to tell anyone tonight, but I would advise seeing someone tomorrow.” Clarke looks up at Octavia, and the girl nods.

“Don’t worry, I’ll make sure it’s looked after.” Bellamy gives his sister a stern look, but she ignores it, looking at Clarke.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Clarke stands then helps Octavia up, too. “How does it feel?”

“A little sore, but not as painful.”

“Good, now go inside and try not to hurt yourself by swinging from the chandelier.” Bellamy smirks, and Octavia grins as she turns towards the house.

“It was nice meeting you!” She calls over her shoulder.

“You, too!”

Once the princess is out of sight, Bellamy offers his arm back to Clarke. “I do not think I’ve ever seen someone willingly tear their dress to cover a cut.”

“My mother did it for me once, when we were traveling. She said that a torn dress is nothing compared to an injury that has not been taken care of properly.” Clarke thinks back on that day. She had just gotten Major, and wasn’t fully capable of riding him, so when he got spooked by a snake she fell off and scrapped up her arm badly.

“My mother used to hum while she was looking after us, too.” Clarke looks up at him, and Bellamy has a faraway look in his eye. “‘Lavender Blue Dilly Dilly’, right?”

“Yes.” Clarke smiles. “I suppose that’s a mother’s go-to song for when they’re with their children. Isn’t it?”

“Yes, I suppose it is.”

The two of them continue to walk side by side, and Clarke takes to asking Bellamy how his time abroad has been. The prince of Arkadia has been gone for a year, traveling around the lands and studying, which is why this ball is supposed to commemorate him coming home, but also help him find a wife. He talks about how he’s enjoyed visiting all of the different places but how he’s also glad that he’s back home. In turn, he asks Clarke what she enjoys doing in her spare time, but instead of telling him that she rarely has free time, she tells him of her love for drawing and how her parents always encouraged her. Bellamy tells her that his mother always encouraged his love for mythology, and how she showed him the different constellations.

“Some of them have their roots in mythology,” he explains.

“Do they?” Clarke looks up at the sky. “I don’t see how anyone could possibly make anything out from them. There’s so many. My father showed me a couple, but I could never understand what he was pointing at.”

“Would you like for me to show you?”

Clarke looks from the sky to the prince. “I love it.”

“Okay, then.” Bellamy smiles then moves closer to her side. “Do you see the brightest star there?” He points in the sky, but of course Clarke sees that one. It’s brighter than the rest.

“Yes, isn’t that the North Star?”

“It is.” Bellamy’s breath fans out across her cheek, and Clarke can feel goosebumps rise on her skin. “Now, if you follow a path from the North Star to the right, you’ll be able to see Cassiopia. It’s named after a vain queen in Greek mythology who always talked about how no one else was as beautiful as she was.” Clarke follows Bellamy’s hand, but she can’t make out anything other than just stars. “Do you see it?”

“No, I can’t seem to find it.” Clarke squints her eyes and looks up at the sky, but she still can’t find it. Bellamy shifts, and his hand comes to rest on her waist as he moves behind her. Clarke’s breath catches, then his face is beside hers as he points at a point in the sky.

“There, do you see the stars that make a zig-zag shape? There’s six of them.”

Clarke follows the path of his fingers, and she smiles. “I can see it.”

“Can you really?” He asks, and Clarke nods her head.

“Yes, I can. Where are the other ones?”

Bellamy chuckles, low and warm at her back. “If you continue going right, you should see Andromeda.” Bellamy moves his hand, and Clarke follows it. “The myth goes that Perseus saved her from being a sacrifice to the sea monster Cetus who was created by Posideon.”

“Why would Posideon send a sea monster after her?”

“Because Cassiope offended the Nefrieds by saying that Andromeda was more beautiful than them, and Posideon sent the monster to devastate the kingdom.” Bellamy speaks softly into her ear, and Clarke finds herself getting lost in his words and the way his hands feel both soft and rough around hers. 

“That sounds like the gods,” she murmurs, and Bellamy chuckles again.

“Yes, I suppose it does.”

The two of them stand in the center of the maze for a little while longer so Bellamy can show her the rest of the constellations, but, eventually, they begin walking again. This time, Bellamy’s hand stays resting on her hand that’s wrapped around his arm, and Clarke’s heart stutters at the feeling. Eventually, the conversation drifts back to the ball, and when it does, the corners of Bellamy’s mouth turn downward.

“Are you okay?”

“Yes, I’m fine.” He gives her hand a reassuring squeeze. “Can I tell you something?”

“Of course.”

“My father has already chosen the woman I am to marry.” When he says the words, they’re almost a whisper. “A woman I have never met.”

“I thought that this ball was to be when you picked your bride?”

“I did, too. I only found out this morning.” Bellamy takes a deep breath and runs his free hand through his hair. “But I suppose that is the way of royal life. Everything is arranged for you.”

“Just because that is what’s done does not mean that it should be done,” Clarke points out, and Bellamy smiles.

“I agree. Though, I’m afraid there is nothing I can do to change it.”

“Will your father not listen to what you want?”

“My mother used to be able to help him see reason, or a different side of the argument that he was too stubborn to see himself, but ever since she died…he has what he wants and he usually gets it.”

“I’m sorry.” Clarke can feel a pain in her chest, but it’s for Bellamy, not the fact that she won’t be able to see where things would go between them. The moment she found out he was the prince, she knew that there would be no way that the two of them could be together. Life just didn’t work like that.

“It’s not your doing.” Bellamy smiles at her again, but this time it seems sad. When they turn the corner, they come to an opening with a large tree in the center of it and a big swing hanging from one of it’s limbs. 

“Would you like to swing?”

“You’re joking?” Clarke asks, but the smile on Bellamy’s face tells her that he’s not. “The prince would push me on a swing?” She teases, and Bellamy’s smile widens.

“Yes, I would.”

“Well, okay, then.” Clarke takes his hand and he walks her towards the swing, helping her sit down before moving to stand behind her. “Don’t let me fall.”

“I’ll catch you.” 

Clarke can hear the smile in his voice, then the soft press of his hand against her back as he begins to move her through the air. She doesn’t remember the last time she’s been on a swing, so she can say that she’s definitely missed it. Her hair flies back behind her as she soars through the air, and a laugh bubbles up in her chest as Bellamy pushes her higher. After a while, Clarke calls for a stop, and Bellamy grabs ahold of the ropes on the swing and pulls her to a stop, her shoe falling off in the process.

“Oh—”

“Here, allow me.” The prince picks up her shoe and turns it around in his hands. “Glass?”

“They’re very comfortable.” Clarke smiles, and Bellamy does the same as he slips it back onto her foot. When it’s securely on, Clarke expects Bellamy to rise, but he doesn’t. He stays kneeling before her as she looks down at him. In the soft light of the torches, his skin looks like it’s glowing, and his eyes dance with different shades of brown as he looks up at her.

“I do not even know your name.”

As she looks at him, Clarke can feel herself wanting to tell him, tell him everything, but she knows that nothing will ever come from it. _He’s already engaged_ , she reminds herself. _To a real princess_. Despite her thoughts, Clarke can feel herself inch closer to him, and he does the same. _He’s so handsome_. Clarke’s eyes drift down to his lips, and when she looks back at his eyes, they’re looking at hers.

“But I would really like to kiss you.”

“Kiss me?” Clarke echoes, and Bellamy nods his head slightly.

“Very much.”

Clarke smiles as he leans forward, and Bellamy lets out a quick breath when she leans forward, too. _I do not even know your name_ . He’s closer now, and Clarke can feel herself being drawn to him, but something else pops into her mind. _No more secrets_.

“Bellamy, I’m not—” The clock chimes the time, and Clarke starts. “It’s midnight.”

“Yes, I suppose it is.” Bellamy turns his head towards the clock’s music. “Is everything alright?”

“I’m sorry, but I really must go.” Clarke stands, and Bellamy does the same. Since he was kneeling before her while she was on the swing, they’re closer than what would be considered acceptable, and Clarke’s breath catches in her throat. He’s taller than her, but she never realized just _how_ much taller. Even in her heels, she has to tip her head back to look at his face. His hand comes up and holds onto hers, and Clarke wants nothing more than to give into it, but she can’t.

“I really must go, Bellamy.” She leans up and places her free hand on his shoulder and gives him a kiss on the cheek. His skin is soft and warm under her lips, and she has a feeling that it’s not going to be something she forgets anytime soon. “This night has been lovely, and you’ve been very kind, but it was going to have to end at some point.” She starts towards the entrance of the opening, letting his hand fall from hers as she goes.

As she runs through the maze, there’s a voice in her head telling her that she’s making a mistake, that she can’t possibly leave without telling him her name, but she has to. _He’s engaged_. And it’s to a princess. To someone with more money than she’ll ever have, and part of the life she’s sure she’ll never be able to get used to. If given the chance, that is. Tonight was a dream, and she knows that everyone has to wake up at some point.

She pushes through the doors to the palace, and starts back through the portrait room, back the way Bellamy brought her. She’s just opening the doors that lead into the hall, when she collides with someone else walking through them as well.

“Good heavens!” The man cries, and Clarke freezes.

“You’re majesty.” She bows at the king, and smiles at Octavia who is standing next to him. “Your highness,” she bows at the princess, “how is your leg?”

“It’s fine, thank you for helping me.”

“Of course.”

“You are the girl I wanted to thank, personally, for helping my daughter. I owe you my gratitude.”

“It was nothing, your majesty, really. And I’m sorry, but I must be going.”

“So soon?” Octavia asks, and Clarke gives her a small smile. 

“I’m sorry.”

“Think nothing of it, dear.” The king smiles at her. 

“Thank you.” Clarke bows again. “Goodbye!” And with that, she starts down the hall and towards the front of the palace.

She’s just reached the entrance doors when she can hear Bellamy calling after her, but she can’t afford to stop and look at him. She flies down the steps, and nearly falls when one of her shoes slips off her foot. Clarke stumbles a little, but she ends up a few steps down from where her shoe is resting and when she turns back to get it, she notices Bellamy at the top of the palace steps.

“Wait!”

Sighing, Clarke turns and takes off her other shoe then vaults down the rest of the steps and towards her waiting carriage. Human-Picasso opens the door for her and Clarke practically throws herself into carriage, then the door closes and she’s moving. Away from the palace, away from Bellamy, and back towards her reality. The reality that she may always be a farm girl, or a maid, and not the princess that he believes her to be.

She can hear shouting as they speed towards the palace gate, and when she looks through one of the windows, she can see the gates beginning to close. “We can’t let them catch us!”

Human-Major gives out a panicked snort as the mice-turned-horses pick up their speed and hurtle them through the gate, the tip scraping across the top of the carriage. It causes them to wobble a little, but her animals keep their pace and soon enough, they’re flying towards the city. There’s no one out, since they’re all at the ball, except for Harper and Raven, so there’s no one to obstruct their path as they shoot towards the house. Except, when they’re almost on the outer limits, Clarke is faintly aware of the sound of hooves following after them, and human-Picasso lets out a low growl.

“What is it?” Clarke turns around in her seat to look. 

“They’re following us.”

Sure enough, there seems to be half a dozen riders chasing them, and Clarke wonders how they got through the gate. “Major! Hurry!” She calls to her horse, and he nods his head as the carriage lurches forward. 

The palace soldiers begin to fall farther and farther behind, and when they enter the path that leads through the trees, they’re nowhere to be seen. A large shake jostles Clarke within the carriage, and when she looks at her horses, she can see their horse ears beginning to turn into mice ears. “Oh, no.” A bark comes from behind her, and when she looks, Picasso is beginning to grow a tail. The same is for Major when she looks at him, and she can feel dread begin to form in the pit of her stomach. They still have a ways until they get home, but she doesn’t think they’re going to make it before the spell wears off.

One of the wheels of the carriage disappears, and in its place is a large green vine. _It’s happening_. “Pull over!” She calls, but all she gets back in response is a few worried squeaks and an equally worried neigh. The carriage careens off the side of the road, but before it can fully stop, the rest of the wheels disappear and the golden carriage begins to turn orange. “No!” Clarke opens the door and jumps out, rolling through the fallen leaves and dirt before coming to a stop a few feet away. When she looks, her beautiful dress is gone, replaced by her torn pink one, and Major and Picasso are both lying on the ground as well, with Major sniffing at the four mice. 

“Is everyone alright?” Clarke asks, and in response, Major stands, swishing his tail around. When she looks at Picasso, the dog appears by her side with her glass slipper hanging from its mouth. “Oh, thank you.” Clarke takes it and turns it over in her hands, the way Bellamy did, then looks up at the sky. “Thank you, fairy godmother.”

In the end, Clarke places the four mice into her slipper and climbs onto Major’s back, starting the long trek back home. As they go, Clarke finds herself humming the song that she and Bellamy danced to, and the smile never leaves her face.

“He’s wonderful, you know.” Clarke says to the animals. “You’ve met him, Major, do you think so, too?” Major snorts and bobs his head up and down, causing Clarke to laugh. “And mother and father used to ask me if I believed you understood what I was saying. I know you do.” Clarke sighs and looks up at the sky. “It was lovely.”

When Clarke returns home, she puts Major in his stable, and the mice in the yard, making sure to leave out more food for them, then leads Picasso inside and gives her more food, too. She’s not sure how it felt, being humans and horses, but she imagines it would take a lot out of them. Once Picasso is occupied, Clarke makes her way to her room, and kneels beside her bed, pulling up the floorboard where she keeps her journal. She’s wrapped her glass slipper in a cloth, and she places it gently within the hole. _At least I’ll always have something to remember this night_. 

Sighing, Clarke changes out of her pink dress and back into her pale blue one, running the material through her fingers. It’s not her magical dress, but it’s still soft, and familiar, and Clarke smiles a little as she lays down onto her bed with her journal. Like the day she met Bellamy, she wants to write everything down, but she doesn’t know where to start. _There’s just so much_. Eventually, after she decides to forgo talking about her fairy godmother, and straight into her showing up at the palace. She’s not sure how long she writes for, but she writes long enough to hear Russell, Kaylee, and Josephine file through the door of the house and begin shouting for her.

“Cinderella!”

“Where is she?”

“Get down here!”

Clarke sighs as she pushes herself out of bed, and places her journal back under the floorboard before making her way down the stairs. She finds the three of them sitting around the dining table, and when they take notice of her, they go into how lovely the ball was. _It was lovely_ , Clarke thinks as she makes them tea and heats up some bread.

“The prince danced with me,” Josephine says with a grin.

“Did he really?” Clarke asks as she pours their glasses.

“Yes, he did. He’s a fantastic dancer. Not that you would know anything about that.”

“You looked like a fish out of water, Josie,” Kaylee raises an eyebrow at her sister. “He wanted to get away from you as fast as possible.”

“Says the girl who didn’t even dance with him.”

“I would have! If it weren’t for that harlot who stole him for most of the night.”

“Kaylee, language,” Russell sighs.

“A harlot?” Clarke chokes, and her stepsisters snort.

“She practically threw herself at him,” Josephine rolls her eyes. “Honestly, it’s a wonder that they didn’t throw her out. And to think, he’s already engaged!” She huffs, and Clarke’s grip on the teapot wavers.

“I’m sure his wife is going to be even more beautiful than that girl from tonight.” Kaylee adds.

Clarke hums noncommitedly, and sets their cups of tea in front of them then gets to work on cutting up the bread. The conversation drifts from the prince to the different outfits they say they saw, but Clarke tunes them out. She knows that nothing will ever come from this night, not that she ever expected anythnig to to begin with, but she can’t help how she feels guilty at spending the night with the prince. _He only just found out this morning_ , she assures herself. _You did nothing wrong, and you’ll never see him again_. The thought hurts her, but she pushes it away and smiles at her step family.

_It was a dream, and that is how it’s going to stay_. That night, as Clarke crawls into bed, she tries not to think about the prince, or the way he held her as they danced, or the look on his face as she ran away from him and down the stairs of the castle. She really tries, but, eventually, it all catches back up to her when she finally falls asleep. She dreams of gilded rooms, courtyards, and a beautiful man with dark hair and dark eyes, and a smile so warm that she could bask in it for days. 

That night, her dreams are of nothing but her prince, and the way she felt while she was with him. When she’s awake, she knows that she can’t possibly feel so deeply about someone who she’s only met twice, but she feels as if she’s known him all of her life. The way they fit together so effortlessly, and how she made him laugh, and his admission to wanting to kiss her...she wonders if this is what it felt like for her parents when they first met. Her father always said that seeing her mother was love at first sight, but Clarke has never experienced that herself. Except...maybe now...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bellamy showing Clarke constellations might always be something I adore :) the final chapter will be up tomorrow!
> 
> I hope you liked it!  
> Xx


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's after the ball, and Clarke is trying to settle back into "reality"

The days pass, and Clarke tries to force herself to believe that the night with the prince was a dream, except, she can’t. Whenever she closes her eyes, she sees him. Whenever she thinks of something funny, she hears his laugh. And whenever she looks at the glass slipper underneath her floor, her heartbeat accelerates and she can’t seem to stop thinking about him. It’s silly, she knows, since there will probably be a royal engagement announcement soon, but she can’t help it.

Every day is the same as it was before. She wakes up, feeds Picasso, fixes breakfast, washes the dishes, makes lunch, washes the clothes, folds the clothes, chops firewood...nothing is different after her night in the castle. No one but her knows that she was the girl the prince danced with that night, not even Bellamy knows her name, and that is how it’s going to stay. It’s how it has to stay.

Now, nearly two weeks after the night of the ball, Clarke is accompanying her stepsisters to town while they collect new material for dresses that they want. Apparently, while at the ball, Kaylee was introduced to a knight, and there were a few men that talked to Josephine, but she ran them all off. 

“I can’t believe that the palace orchestrated the entire ball to make the people feel like they were important, only to throw it back in their faces,” Kaylee grumbles as she looks at the different colored fabrics. 

“Well, they are royalty,” Josephine shrugs, then turns and walks out of the door. “Terrible quality.”

Clarke follows after her with Kaylee following her, but before they can start towards the next shop, the sound of the royal horns carry throughout the courtyard, and the three of them stop where they are. Five palace soldiers ride into the opening, and Clarke braces herself for what’s about to come.

One of the men clears his throat, then unrolls a piece of parchment and holds it up. “By order of his royal highness, Prince Bellamy Blake, the fair maiden who lost her glass slipper the night of the royal ball is to be found, so he may confess his love to her in person. Every maiden within the kingdom will be tested by placing their foot within the glass slipper. If the slipper fits, then the maiden will be escorted to the palace in order to speak with the prince.” The breath is knocked from Clarke’s lungs as excited conversations break out among the courtyard. 

“The prince will not be here?” One girl shouts, and the soldier presses his lips into a thin line.

“No, the prince will await the maiden’s arrival in the castle.”

There’s a chorus of disappointed _aws_ , but Clarke isn’t paying attention to them. _He’s trying to find me_. Clarke drops the basket she’s carrying, and Josephine snaps at her. “Watch what you’re doing, Cinderella!”

“I’m sorry, it slipped,” Clarke mumbles, but her stepsister is already talking to Kaylee.

“We need to go home and tell father.”

“Why? The slipper will not fit us!” Kaylee hisses, but Josephine waves her away.

“The girl was about my size, Kaylee, so it stands to reason that we might have the same shoe size does it not?”

“Well, I suppose…”

Without another word, Josephine grabs ahold of her sister’s arm and starts them towards the house, leaving Clarke to hurry after them. As they make their way back home, Clarke realizes that Josephine is right. When they first moved in, Josephine had a penchant for stealing Clarke’s shoes, well, the ones that she claimed were “too pretty” for Clarke. They fit her perfectly. _So, does that mean that my glass slipper might fit her?_

When Josephine and Kaylee bust through the front door, Russell barges out of his study, seemingly wondering who is crashing through his house, but his daughters are in front of him in an instant. He raises his hands, trying to calm them down, and Clarke hovers by the front door, closing it softly behind her.

“I cannot understand the two of you! Now, only one of you, speak.” Russell looks between his daughters, and they pause for a second before they both start speaking again. “Ah! Josephine, speak.” 

“The prince is trying to find that girl from the ball!”

“They’re going around and trying on the glass slipper she left behind! On everyone!”

“You saw her, father, I could easily fit into it!” Josephine grins like a madwoman, and Russell raises his eyebrows at his daughters.

“Do you both believe that you could fit into that slipper?”

“I don’t see why not! She wasn’t much different than me.” Josephine says.

“Or me.”

Russell looks between his two daughters, then a wide smile breaks out across his face. “This is wonderful! This is the last chance we have to get one of you into the castle.” Russell rubs his hands together. “We have much to prepare for. The two of you need to find your best dresses and clean yourselves up. Cinderella!”

“Yes, sir?” Clarke straightens from leaning against the door and looks at her stepfather. 

“See that this entire house is cleaned from top to bottom! We may not be able to make the outside look as presentable, but I will not have the king’s men talking of how we live in squalor.”

“Oh, yes. Of course.” Clarke nods her head, not bothering to look at any of the Lightbournes as she makes her way into the kitchen. 

_The prince is looking for me._ Something in the back of her mind tells her that she doesn’t need to be worried about her glass slipper fitting anyone else, but she doesn’t know what it is. _Maybe it’s because I know that they were made_ for _me. But, then again, if they fit perfectly then why did one of them fall off? Why do I feel like my fairy godmother may have known this was going to happen…_

As she cleans, Clarke lets herself entertain the idea that maybe falling in love with a prince does happen in real life. And, sometimes, he feels the same way. She cleans the drapes, and the rugs, polishes all of the hardwood furniture, cleans out the fireplaces, dusts...she’s so caught up in doing the work that she’s done everyday for years, that she doesn’t realize when she starts singing. Well, humming would be more like it.

She hums while she washes the dishes, and she even sways a little while she sweeps up the floor in the kitchen. It’s like she can imagine Bellamy right there with her, like the night of the ball. Dancing. It’s when she’s preparing the dinner food onto her stepfamily’s plates that she realizes that she’s been humming for a while. And she smiles. _I’ll get to see the prince again_. She’s decidedly _not_ humming when she brings the dinner out, but she doesn’t see the curious way Russell looks at her as she walks away. 

While they eat, Clarke sits in the parlor and mends Josephine and Kaylee’s dresses that they want to wear for tomorrow. The thought that she doesn’t have anything to wear, other than her green dress, which is close to falling apart, or her blue one, makes her self-conscious, _but_ , she reminds herself, _this is the first thing he ever saw you in_. _It will be fine_. She takes up humming, again, as she sews, and she can’t help the smile that makes its way onto her face. _Maybe fairy tales are real_.

  
  


The next morning, Clarke wakes up better rested than she has been in a long time. Her shoulders seem to not have any knots in them, and her neck doesn’t appear to have been in a weird angle, and when she stretches, she feels relaxed. _Maybe I won’t have to sleep in the attic anymore_. The thought of possibly leaving her house sends a pain through her chest, but she knows that it may be for the best. That is, if Bellamy still wants her. 

She gets to her daily chores, making breakfast, washing dishes, the usual, but she can’t help the fact that she keeps looking out of the windows and towards the front of the house. She doesn’t want to miss the men arriving with the glass slipper. Of course, her stepsisters will cause much more of a commotion than she will, but she can deal with that. After all, the slipper won’t fit them. 

As Clarke is finishing up fluffing the pillows in the sitting room, Russell appears in the doorway and when she looks up, she jumps. 

“My apologies, I did not mean to scare you,” he says.

“You didn’t.” Clarke fluffs the pillow in front of her one last time for good measure before straightening and looking at him, smoothing her dress out in front of her. “Is there anything I can do for you?”

“I can’t have you meeting the king’s men in those rags, go change.”

Clarke blinks at him for a second. “They’re coming here?” 

“Yes, I just received word from some of the people in town. Apparently there was a small selection of women for them to try the slipper on.”

“Oh,” she says. _Did it really only take them a day?_ She stands there, wondering how it could have gone so fast.

“Hurry, now.” He motions towards the stairs and Clarke doesn’t need to be told again.

“Thank you, sir.” She runs past him and up the stairs, only realizing when she starts up the fifth flight that Picasso is waving her tail excitedly as she follows her. 

“I might get to see the prince,” Clarke whispers, and Picasso lets out a soft bark. 

When she gets into her room, Clarke closes the door behind her, and stops when she looks at herself in the mirror. There’s dust in her hair and ash on her face, but she can fix that. She grabs her green dress from where it’s hanging and brings it into view before grabbing a rag off the side of a bucket of water and rubbing it over her face. After spending so much time working and not looking in the mirror, she’s amazed she recognized herself.

Picasso sits on her bed, smiling at her in the mirror while Clarke picks up her old brush and begins running it through her hair. She’s always loved how wavy her hair is, and after she’s sure that she’s brushed it well enough, she smiles, humming softly as she begins to braid it. _I wonder if I’ll seem too excited?_ _Surely, they would understand if I do..._ as she begins to wonder how she’ll greet the king’s men, the door to her room opens, and she sees Russell’s reflection behind her. 

“Cinderella,” he sneers, “I should have known.”

“What do you mean?” Clarke turns around to look at him. “I haven’t done anything.”

“Of course.” Clarke tilts her head to the side as she looks at him, wondering what’s gotten into him before he pulls a key out of his pocket and swiftly locks the door from the inside out.

“No!” Clarke rushes forward, trying to grab the door to stop it before he can close it all of the way, but she yanks her hand back at the last second so her fingers don’t get crushed. “You can’t lock me in here!”

“I will not have you ruining my daughters’ last chance at getting into the palace. If I so much as hear _anything_ coming from this room, you will never see the light of day again,” he growls, and Clarke lets out a choked sob. “You are _nothing_ but a fool, believing that the prince would take you, a dirty orphan, over a woman like Josephine.”

“Please, don’t do this.”

“Silence!” Russell bangs on the door and Clarke jumps back, glaring at the thick wood. 

_A woman like Josephine_. Clarke snorts. _An arrogant, self-entitled girl who has never shown appreciation for anything in her life and only ever wants what is best for her without any regard for anybody else. Any man would be lucky to have her_ , Clarke thinks dryly. Taking a deep breath, Clarke turns on her heel and stalks towards her bedroom window and looks down. It’s a long way down to the ground, way too long for her to jump out of the window, or to try and find a way to repel down. _What else can I do?_

She goes back to her door and tries to open it, but it doesn’t budge. She also tries to pry out the screws holding the hinges on, but she does not have the best tool in order to do so. She looks over at Picasso. _Why did they not take her out?_ The dog looks over at her, her ears drooping.

“You know something’s happened, don’t you?” Clarke asks, but she knows that she won’t get a reply. Sighing, Clarke walks over to her and scratches behind her ears. “It’s okay, I’ll find a way to get us out.”

Clarke walks back over to the window and looks out again. She can’t see anything other than the backyard and the woods where she first met Bellamy, but she opens her window to see if she can hear anything. As she expected, she hears nothing. _You were foolish to believe that they were actually coming_ . A gentle breeze blows through the open window, and Clarke inhales deeply. _‘You will never see the light of day again’_. 

Clarke props herself onto the window sill and looks out. _I have three days until my birthday_. Ever since learning that the prince was going to be looking for the girl from the ball, she hasn’t thought much about her approaching birthday. After her father died, they’ve meant less and less to her, though her mother did try to make them special. But, after her mother died, she’s been the only one to actually treat the day with any importance. Except, now, she doesn’t know what will happen when that day comes.

* * *

It took two weeks for him to convince his father that he should marry for love instead of title and riches. He had nothing against the girl his father chose for him, he never met her, but he knew that he could not go into a marriage when he longed to be with someone else. So, it was two weeks of arguing and disagreements, which would usually wear him down to the bone and put him in a sour mood for just as long, but those two weeks were nothing compared to the days that followed after he and his men set out to find his mystery princess. Days. Not weeks, but days. And he felt even more drained and tired than ever before. On the final day, with the last house rising above them on a hill through the woods where he first met her, Prince Bellamy was torn between wanting to see if his girl was there and giving up.

“There’s only one more house, your highness,” Nate Miller, the son of General Miller and Bellamy’s best friend, comes to a stop beside him. “I have a good feeling about this house.”

“You said the same thing about the last dozen,” Bellamy sighs. “Your father doesn’t look too optimistic about this house, though.”

“I believe that is Murphy’s doing.” Miller says with a smile and, despite his frustration, Bellamy can feel himself begin to smile, too.

“Yes, I believe you’re right.”

General Miller calls for all of them to begin their journey to the house, and Bellamy urges his horse after them. _My last hope_. As they walk the path through the trees, Bellamy finds himself looking for his girl on the horse, like the first day he met her. _She has to be here, doesn’t she?_ His mind drifts to the night of the ball and the way she smiled when she could finally see the constellations, and the way she looked so determined as she cleaned Octavia’s wound before ripping off a piece of her dress to bind it. He can’t let her slip through his fingers. Not now.

They ride for a little while longer, and Murphy appears on Bellamy’s right, eating an apple. “Tell me why you have us scouring the countryside for this girl again,” he mumbles around a mouthful of apple.

“You know why.”

“Do you really expect me to believe that you’re in love with this girl after one night with her? And you didn’t even get a kiss?”

“You’re misremembering,” Miller jumps in, “she kissed him on the cheek.”

“Oh, that’s right. Silly me, how could I forget?” Murphy smirks. “Oh, Augustus, you’re so handsome—”

“Enough,” Bellamy sighs. “Tell me, why do I believe my life is safe in your hands again?” He looks at Murphy, who shrugs.

“No idea, your highness.”

“That’s comforting,” Bellamy grumbles, then moves his horse towards the front of the group so he can ride beside General Miller.

“I suppose it’s safe to assume that Murphy has gotten your last nerve, too?” The older man asks, and Bellamy lets out a long sigh.

“Yes, you could say that.”

“I have no doubt that you will find her, your highness. I will not stop searching until we do.”

“I know that, General, and thank you, but I’m afraid that I will not have the drive to find her if she is not here. Like my father said, sometimes things are only meant to be temporary.”

“I agree, some things are meant to be temporary, but I do not believe that this is one of them.” Mr. Miller smiles, and even though Bellamy wants to believe him, he does not have much faith left after the past few days. 

When they finally reach the house on the hill, Bellamy’s heart rate picks up as he looks at the front door. He’s dressed like his soldiers, so he does not cause a commotion, but he wishes he could just stroll into the house and check for himself. General Miller slides off his horse, followed by the soldier holding the glass slipper, and knocks on the door, which is opened by a man with bright eyes and a graying beard.

“Welcome, gentleman! I assume you are here to test my daughters?”

“Yes, sir. We are.” Miller nods his head once, and the man of the house smiles wider and steps back, motioning for them to step inside. The general looks back at Bellamy one last time before walking fully into the house and closing the door behind him.

“And now we wait,” Nate says.

“And now we wait.”

The minutes go by, and Bellamy can find himself growing impatient. Sighing, he slides off his horse and Miller and Murphy do the same. The house is in obvious need of repairs, but Bellamy can tell that it used to be beautiful, once upon a time. Vines have taken over the stones, and there is a layer of dirt that could be washed away, and he begins to wonder why the man of the house has not taken care of it as he should have. 

“What do you think the princess will say if you do not return with your mystery girl?” Miller asks, but before Bellamy can answer, there is a chorus of yelling within the house, and Bellamy raises an eyebrow.

“Would you go check on your father and make sure that the women inside have not tried to strike him?”

“Good idea,” his friend mutters, the walks up the steps and into the house.

“What will she say?” Murphy asks, and Bellamy sighs, shrugging.

“I have no idea. Octavia took to her quickly.”

“Well, you may need to prepare your talk for when you get back. Judging by the yelling going on inside, I do not believe that the slipper fits.”

Bellamy runs a hand through his hair and silently curses. _I should have known_. Huffing, Bellamy swings himself back onto his horse, but before Murphy can do the same, a golden dog appears, pawing at him. Murphy swats it away, but the dog merely tilts its head at him before barking softly.

“Go away, mutt.”

“Maybe she wants you to play,” Bellamy offers, and his friend raises an eyebrow at him.

“I don’t play.” 

The dog barks louder, and Murphy glares at it. “ _Go away_.” Again, the dog barks louder, then turns and runs to the side of the house and barks some more.

“I think it wants you to follow them.”

“Why would I follow a dog behind a house?” Murphy asks, and Bellamy shrugs.

“Follow the dog, Murphy.”

Begrudgingly, Murphy let’s go of his horses saddle then starts in the direction of the dog. “Making me follow a dog. What person in their right mind follows a dog?”

As Murphy disappears around the corner of the house, the front door bursts open with General Miller shaking his head as he walks down the steps. _He doesn’t look happy_. The man who opened the door follows after him, calling for his daughters.

“I can assure you that my daughters—”

“Are not the missing princess that we seek.” General Miller turns to look at the man. “Thank you, and have a good day.”

As the Millers return to their horses, he stops, and Bellamy sits up straighter. _Lavender Blue Dilly Dilly_. A familiar, sweet voice he’s ever heard drifts through the courtyard just and Murphy runs back to the front of the house with the dog following behind him.

“There’s a third maiden inside the house!” He calls.

General Miller turns back to the man that is standing with his front doors nearly closed. “You did not tell us that you have a third girl inside the house.”

“If you love me, dilly dilly, I will love you. Let the birds sing, dilly dilly, let the lambs play…”

“I can assure you, your grace, that she is no one.”

“That is a lot of asurring for one man to do.” Bellamy takes off the soldier hat he is wearing and the dark blue shaw. “General Miller,” he turns to look at him, “will you please bring down the girl to whom that voice belongs?”

“I would be delighted, sir.” The general bows, then turns back to the house and walks up to the man still standing at the door, not moving. “Are you to disregard an order from your prince?”

The man standing at the door glares, before backing up and opening the door wide enough for General Miller to walk through it, then he disappears from view.

* * *

When the lock turns on the door, Clarke starts and stands up from where she had been resting against the windowsill. She opened the window so she could sing to Picasso, but she did not think that it would be a problem. Of course, Russell did tell her that if she made any noise then she wouldn’t see the light of day again, and with her birthday being today, the fear that he’ll throw her out with nothing flashes through her mind.

Except, when the door opens, Russell is not alone. There’s a man wearing a dark blue jacket, similar to the one that Bellamy wore the night of the ball, and under his arm is a general’s hat. She hadn’t even realized that they were here. She didn’t hear anything. 

“Miss, would you come downstairs with me, please?” The older man asks, and Clarke looks between him and Russell. _Maybe I will get to see Bellamy_ _after all_.

She’s been locked in her attic room for three days now, and alone for the last two and a half since they took Picasso while she was sleeping one night. She gave up ever seeing the prince again, almost believing that her stepfather was right. She would never be anything more than a dirty orphan. But, she knows who she is. She knows who her parents were. Taking a deep breath, Clarke squares her shoulders and lifts up her chin.

“If you take one more step, you will never be allowed back into this house,” Russell’s voice is low.

“Who are you to stop her from leaving?” The general asks. 

“I am her father!”

“You have never been, and never will be, my father.” Clarke turns her eyes on him, and Russell takes a step back as if he’s been slapped. “You have not treated me with kindness, or love, and to say you are my father disrespects the man who was.”

Turning towards the general, Clarke walks towards him and he motions for her to lead the way down the stairs. She does not try to listen for Russell’s footsteps, but she’s aware of the soldier at her back as she makes her descent. Walking, even this much, feels almost foreign to her, and when she looks around the house, it does not seem the same.

The general directs her towards the sitting room, and she takes a deep breath as she sits down on the couch. _I wonder if I should have brought my slipper._ Clarke knots her fingers in her lap as she waits, and she looks down at her father’s watch. Watching the seconds tick by. It’s not long before there’s the sound of multiple feet walking towards the room, but it feels like forever. 

When she looks up, Bellamy stands in the doorway. His curls are wild, a common occurrence she’s come to realize, and in his right hand is the other glass slipper. His lips part as he looks at her, and Clarke can feel her body begin to hum as she looks at him. And it’s to the beat of the song they danced together. In three long strides, he’s before her, kneeling like that night at the swing. 

His brown eyes change shades in the sunlight, and she has a better view of the freckles adorning his face. _Like the constellations in the sky._ If it weren’t for the cushions beneath her, Clarke would almost think they’re back on the swing, and he’s placing her fallen shoe back onto her foot.

“May I?” His voice is low, but it does not hold any of the anger and malice that Russell’s had. No. The way he speaks sounds like home.

“Please.” 

Bellamy’s eyes stay on hers for a beat before he reaches down and takes off the shoe she’s currently wearing, then holds the back of her ankle as he puts on the glass slipper. Clarke’s breath catches as she looks down at it. She thought she’d never get to wear them again, after all, she can’t just walk around in one glass slipper. Bellamy stares at the perfect fit, too, but how long he looks at it makes Clarke’s heart beat harder in her chest. _Is he disappointed?_ For everything that’s only taken a few seconds, they sure seem a lot longer.

When Bellamy _finally_ looks up at her, he smiles. That magnificent smile that would melt anyone’s heart. “It seems I have found my runaway princess.”

“Bellamy, I’m sorry for not telling you the truth.” Clarke wants to look away from him, like she does with her stepfamily, but she doesn’t. Because he’s looking at her with something she hasn’t seen in a very long time.

“As you said, you never claimed to be anything different. At first I thought you were talking about never claiming to be a farm girl, but now, I realize, it was you never claimed to be a princess.”

“But I did not correct you.”

“No, you didn’t,” he admits, “but given the circumstances, I understand.” Bellamy puts her other shoe back on her foot and stands, an Arkadia prince in all his glory, and holds out one of his hands to help her up while the other holds onto her slipper. She didn’t notice just quite how big his hands were compared to hers during the ball, but they are considerably bigger. When she looks up at him, he smiles softly at her, and Clarke’s heart hurts. “I still do not know your name.”

“I have two names,” Clarke says, and Bellamy tilts his head to the side as he looks at her. “That day in the forest, you asked what _they_ call me, and it’s Cinderella.”

“What is your birth name?”

“Clarke. Clarke Griffin.” She smiles as she says it.

“Well, Clarke, I think the name suits you.” Bellamy winks when he says it, and Clarke laughs.

“I think Bellamy suits you better than Augustus.” Bellamy laughs at that, and they stand in the parlor laughing. It’s a peculiar situation. A prince laughing with a farm girl inside of a house where she’s spent her entire life, over a silly tease. When they both sober, Bellamy places a hand on her waist, and Clarke moves towards him without a second thought.

“I seem to recall that were about to kiss when you suddenly disappeared.”

“Oh, you know, pumpkins and mice and things,” Clarke shrugs, and Bellamy’s eyebrows knit together for a moment, but he’s still smiling.

“May I kiss you, Clarke?”

“Yes,” Clarke smiles as she tilts her head up to look at him, “you may.”

When their lips press together, a few things happen at once. Clarke is overwhelmed by the feeling, since she’s never experienced anything quite like this before, but also her stepsisters run into the room, causing her to jump and break the kiss before she’s ready to.

“Do you really believe that you can just walk out of this house?” Josephine snarls. “You are not eighteen yet.”

“Today is my birthday, Josephine.” Clarke says, calmly.

“No it’s not! Your birthday is on October 29th.”

“It is October 29th.” Bellamy’s hold on Clarke’s waist tightens, and the weight of his arm around her makes her smile. 

“I will not have it!” Russell bursts into the room, too, and the general follows after him, not daring to look away from anything he might do. “She is my stepdaughter!”

“Enough!” Bellamy’s voice booms in the small room, but Clarke and the General do not flinch at it the way Russell and his daughters do. “Clarke is capable of making her own decisions, but considering you had her locked in the attic, we would waive your ability to make decisions for her even if she wasn’t.” Bellamy looks down at her then, and Clarke finds herself incapable of looking away. “What would you like, Clarke?”

“I’d like to be with you,” she says softly. “Afterall, you did look through the entire kingdom for me, it would be a shame to not give you a chance at least.”

Bellamy laughs, deep and unrestrained then, to Clarke’s surprise, kisses her on the temple. “Then, to the palace we go.”

With Bellamy’s arm around her, he guides her towards the front door and down the steps. “Oh! What about my other slipper? It’s—”

Before Clarke can finish her sentence, she looks down at her feet, the worn shoes she’s wearing are replaced by her glass slippers, and Bellamy stares at the hand where he had just been holding one of them. Smiling, Clarke looks up at the sky. “Thank you, fairy godmother,” she whispers. When she looks at Bellamy, he smiles.

“I believe I have a lot to learn about you, Clarke Griffin.”

“I could say the same thing about you.” 

“Well, a lifetime should be sufficient enough, do you agree?”

“Yes, I do.” Clarke smiles, and Bellamy wraps her up in another kiss.

Clarke Griffin and Prince Bellamy Blake are married exactly one week later. After the first night in the palace, Bellamy had told her that he didn’t want to wait, and Clarke agreed. They spent enough time apart, and Bellamy was obviously tired from his endless search for her, so after speaking with the king, they set the date almost immediately. Meeting the king, formally, was weird seeing as she ran into him and the princess while running away from his son, but he smiled warmly at her and even gave her a hug before Octavia skidded into the room and vaulted herself at her. Then, when Octavia caught sight of Picasso, she was even happier.

Clarke felt bad about bringing Picasso with her, but when she mounted Major, Picasso seemed to want to come along for the ride. Now, as part of their journey before they head to their honeymoon destination, they stop before her old house. It only took two days after Clarke left for Russell and his daughters to leave, seeing as when Clarke told Bellamy about how they treated her when he asked, he wanted to see what bother her father and mother’s wills said. At the sight of the palace guards, Russell did not waste any time leaving.

According to Harper and Raven, Josephine ran off with a man from Sanctum, Gideon, they had said but when Clarke asked if his name was Gabriel, they told her she was right. But, the story is that Russell did not return to Sanctum, but he traveled to Polis. A place where Clarke was sure people did not know who he was, but Bellamy offered to send the King and Queen a message telling them to watch out for him if that is what Clarke wanted. 

Now, as she looks up at the house she’s loved all her life, it feels like a weight has been lifted off it. The sun seems to shine a little brighter on it, and the vines that have taken residence on the walls seem to be greener. _My home_. Of course, now, Clarke’s home is the palace, but this will always be her home. And after finding out that her father had originally left the house to her in his will but named her mother as the proprietor until either she passed or Clarke became of age, whichever came first, it’s been her house for two and a half years.

“What would you like to do?” Bellamy comes up behind her and wraps his arms around her waist, and Clarke leans back against his chest.

“I want to restore it, and turn it into a school. Or an orphanage. I want to use it to help children,” she murmurs. The image that she has in her mind begins to take shape in front of her. The fountain is running, the vines have been trimmed, the windows cleaned to let in all of the sunlight, and then there’s children running around. Being taught things that they may never know, and being taken care of people who want them to have the best life possible. 

“I can see it.” Bellamy kisses her temple, and Clarke hums. “I can have it cleaned for when we come back.”

“But they won’t remove anything, will they?”

“Not if you don’t want them to.” 

“Okay,” Clarke nods her head. “Then, I’d like that.”

“Okay.” Bellamy kisses her cheek this time. “Are you ready to go?”

“Can I have a moment?” 

“Of course.” Bellamy hugs her a little tighter before letting her go, and Clarke turns around to blow him a kiss before walking up the stairs of her house.

When she walks inside, everything seems the same as it’s always been, but it feels different now. It’s her house, and the darkness that’s loomed over it for years is gone now. She walks through the sitting room, running her hand over the blanket that sitting on the back of the couch, then down the hall, touching the old wooden tables. When she gets to the bottom of the stairs, she stops and looks up. _All the times I’ve climbed these stairs, and I never realized how large they are_.

She takes a deep, steadying breath then places her foot on the first step. It gets easier as she goes, but she doesn’t stop on the second floor. She doesn’t want to see her room—Josephine’s room. It hasn’t been her room for a long time. She continues to climb and climb, until she comes face to face with the door to her attic. It’s still open, just how it was the day she left. She walks in, and looks around, taking in the place she spent two and a half years of her life. There’s a new layer of dust beginning to settle, and some leaves have blown in through the open window, but it doesn’t look any different other than that. 

Clarke catches sight of her reflection in her mirror, and she stops. She’s wearing white, but it’s a simple dress, not the one she wore for her wedding. Her blonde hair is braided over her shoulder, and there’s color back in her cheeks. She looks good. Healthy, clean, and well rested. She looks how she remembers herself, not covered in dust and cobwebs and aching from a long day full of hard work. She looks like a princess. 

Turning away, Clarke walks to the old floorboard and moves it, looking at the little box that holds all of her memories. Of all of the things in this house, this is the only one that feels like it’s hers. She reaches down and lifts the box gently, worried that it might fall apart with how old it is, then stands. Her journal, her doll, her ribbon, the picture of her parents...smiling, Clarke walks back to the door, turning to take one more look at her room before starting back down the stairs and towards her awaiting husband.

When she enters the carriage, Bellamy wraps his arm around her and she settles in with her head against his shoulder. He doesn’t ask what the box is, but Clarke picks up the picture of her parents and shows it to him. She can feel him smile against her hair.

As they ride away, Clarke imagines what her life is going to be like now. She imagines how it’s been for the past week. She has an adoring husband, and she’s a part of a family that accepts her for who she is. She sees her friends more now, too, and even though she’s to begin ‘princess training’ as she calls it when she comes back, she’s sure she’ll be able to handle it. After all, she’s handled worse with even worse people.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Bellamy murmurs.

“I was just thinking about how overwhelming everything has been. I went from a servant to a princess within a week.”

“Hey,” Bellamy places his fingers under her chin and tilts her head up to look at him. “We’ll do this together, okay?”

“Yeah,” Clarke smiles, “together.”

Bellamy gives her a soft, sweet kiss and Clarke wraps an arm around his neck to pull him closer. _Maybe dirty orphans get fairy tale endings after all._ When they break apart, they smile at each other and Clarke’s heart stutters. _And to think, it’s all because of my fairy godmother and her glass slippers_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a few different ways that I could think of ending this story, but I'm happy with how it turned out :)
> 
> Thank you, thank you, THANK YOU to everyone who has followed this story since it's first chapter was posted and to everyone who stumbled upon this and decided to give it a chance <3 this was my first time rewriting a fairy tale, so if you have any thoughts/comments/critiques/anything then I'd love to hear from you!!
> 
> Also, a HUGE shoutout to babykanima (AO3) for her magnificent artwork that she was kind enough to let me use! Without it, this story would have never been written!  
> You can also find her on Twitter: swainslake and Tumblr: swainlake ;) 
> 
> Thank you for all of the love, and I hope you liked it!  
> Xx
> 
> P.S. I've been toying around with the idea of a Peter Pan-like AU, but I haven't gotten very far with it, and there's also another story that I'm really excited to share once Hail to the king, baby is finished! So, if you liked this story, then hopefully you'll like the ones I have in mind :)
> 
> That's all folks! Catch you on the flip side ;)

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos are always appreciated :)
> 
> You can find me on...  
> Tumblr: xxawalkinwonderlandxx  
> Twitter: awalknwonderlnd


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